


Meet the Starks

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, In-Laws, Married Life, Romance, newlyweds, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 57,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Westeroswolf's unfilled LJ prompt: Crack AU where Ned and Cat meet their new son in law, Sandor at Riverrun! Cat loves him because he rescued Sansa and Arya but Ned still hates him. Family fun ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Westeroswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Westeroswolf).



> All of my fanfics featuring Jaime Lannister will stick to his CANON characterization so there is no need to worry when reading my stories. If ever I feature violence towards women (which is rare for me) I always place an asterisk beside the paragraph and a warning at the beginning of the story. If you ever feel anything needs tagging, please let me know. Your comfort comes FIRST.

One fine autumn day, the Tully household received a raven bearing the seal of Sandor Clegane. To the delight of the family, it announced that he, Arya, and Sansa were to arrive at the castle in a fortnight.

Robb dispatched his best riders from the Stark host, who confirmed sightings of them along the route. With full hearts, Ned and Catelyn eagerly made ready to receive their long lost daughters and goodson.

“Where could they be?” Ned Stark grumbled irritably, glancing out the window for the fifth time in a quarter hour. “It cannot possibly take so long to ferry a boat here.”

“The raven’s message said they would arrive today, Ned,” Lady Catelyn sat in the expansive bay window seat. “And Sansa said Sandor was bringing his horse we must allow for that.”

“An ill-tempered beast if ever I saw one,” Ned wrinkled his nose.

“Do you speak of your goodson or his horse?” Edmure teased.

“Both.”

“Ned, please.” Turning to her brother, Catelyn asked, “Edmure, you alerted the men in the tower of the Water Gate to admit them, did you not?”

“Yes, of course I did,” Edmure sighed, clearly annoyed. He handed Ned a glass of wine. “They will raise the portcullis for Sansa and Clegane, no need to worry on that score. Sister, you must calm yourself.”

“I cannot help it-I am beside myself! To think that tonight we will have both girls back under our roof, Ned-it is a gift from the Seven.”

“Aye, that it is,” Ned looked up from polishing Ice and smiled. “I expect Arya will be the same, but our sweet little Sansa comes to us a bride, Cat. It seems like only yesterday I took her to the moors to pick wildflowers.”

“I remember,” Cat softly replied. “She looked so tiny holding on to your hand, her bright hair aflame in the afternoon sun. Sansa was always such a lady, obedient and eager to please. We can thank the gods that even in that viper’s pit they call the Red Keep that our girl found love-and with a brave man who cares enough to return her to us.”

“That remains to be seen,” Ned’s warm expression turned taciturn. “Brave? I'd not go as far as that. No, more like self-serving, the Lannister hound. I just hope Sandor Clegane has the decency not to wear that horrible Lannister armor to Riverrun.”

“Oh, Ned,” Catelyn shook her head. “Is it self-serving to return our daughters to us? How can you even think such a thing?”

“Because I know the man. He is looking for coin; he will name his price once he secures guest right,  mark my words.”

“Do you really think he would do something like that after he betrayed the Lannisters?”

“I do; if it meant safer passage for them,” Ned paced the room. “Not one in ten ruffians would be willing to tussle with a man his size and fearsome appearance, especially one wearing the cloak of the Kingsguard. I just hope he thinks of the trouble it will cause Sansa and Arya should he wear it within the camp.”

“Ned, you must try to put a little faith in the man,” Catelyn sat down beside him and covered his hand with her own. “His bravery warrents that much at least. I agree he is not the man I would have chosen for our sweet girl, but just look at what he has done for her! He has given up everything for Sansa-riches, distinction, an honorable place at the Red Keep serving the king. Despite the odds, it seems Sandor must have some sense of honor.”

“Hmph,” Ned interrupted.

“…or he would have never done such for Sansa,” Catelyn ignored his comment and sat beside him. ”Please, try to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Hmph,” he muttered again, furiously polishing his blade.

“Please if not for me, then for Sansa.”

Sighing, Ned slumped down beside her and stared out at the main road leading into Riverrun. “You know I will, wife, but it is a difficult thing you ask of me. I’ve never trusted any Clegane, though he’s not so bad as his brother. Sandor has a reputation for speaking the truth but that’s the extent of good I’m willing to concede to the man.”

“Clegane cannot be so very bad, dearest, or Sansa would not have fallen in love with him.”

“He killed the butcher’s boy,” Ned insisted. “He rode him down.”

“So you have told me many a time, and I am sorry for the poor child. But he also betrayed the Lannisters for our sweet Sansa, and he is returning her to us! Surely that earns him some of your goodwill.”

“Aye.”

“Besides, husband, Sansa says in her raven that she loves him.”

Gritting his teeth, Ned abruptly stood up. “He probably wrote that part himself.”

“It was in her handwriting, dearest.”

“Sansa is a child,” Ned sharply turned to her. “She only thinks she loves him because he rescued her like one of those knights out of one of the fairy stories you used to read to her. Once she is among her family, her feelings will wane.”

“Such is the fickle way of women,” Brynden laughed. “That is why I am a bachelor.”

“For shame, Ned!” Catelyn hissed angrily. “Do you think so little of your own daughter? Do you honestly believe Sansa capable of easily throwing over her own husband? To hear you speak, you would think she was Cersei.”

Grudgingly he shook his head. “No, forgive my thoughtless words; we raised her better than that. Sansa is a good, obedient, devoted child. It’s just-“

“It is just that she is your little girl and you cannot bear to recognize that she is a married woman.” Catelyn settled beside him and caressed his cheek. “It is only natural; it was the same with my father, you recall.”

“Your father was most stubborn.”

Catelyn raised her brows but remained silent. Ned laughed self-consciously at her.

“That is the greatest understatement ever spoken in the Great Hall, Ned,” the Blackfish chimed in before downing the last of his wine. “You must face reality: Sansa no longer the little girl who held your finger and picked wildflowers. She is a woman flowered, wedded and bedded.”

A deep guttural groan emanated from Ned’s throat, followed by hearty laughter from Brynden Tully.

“Face it, Ned, you are no longer the main man in her life,” the Blackfish crowed. “Clegane holds that place now.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ned muttered. “My sweet little lemoncake is a married woman, and now belongs to a Clegane, no less.”

“You men! You must stop this at once!” Catelyn scolded them. “Sansa loves you, Ned, and nothing will change that!”

The grating metal of the rising portcullis turned their attention toward the entranceway in the lower bailey.  “Hush, now, the both of you.  Sansa and Sandor will be in directly,” Catelyn eagerly smoothed down the front of her gown. “Now, listen to me carefully: I want the three of you to treat her with the dignity and respect you would afford any other married woman. Promise me.”

“Of course, Kitty Cat, no need to mother hen us,” the Blackfish grinned, tweaking Catelyn’s curls. “Come Ned, let’s go meet your goodson. I hear he is quite ugly; is it so?”

“He is not so very bad,” Catelyn frowned at them, nervously adjusting her hair. “He is merely scarred; the sound side of his face is most becoming, I recall. He has the look of the north, and is very muscular and imposing.”

Both men turned, staring with their mouths agape at Catelyn, when the house steward announced, “Lady Arya Stark of House Stark, accompanied by Ser Sandor and Lady Sansa of House Clegane to see you, my lords and lady.”

“I’m no ser, you buggering bastard,” Sandor Clegane growled, the fierce man warily surveying the interior with an air of menace. Huge, dark and commanding, Sansa’s husband seemed to take up the entire entryway as he stepped inside the Great Hall. He was even bigger than Catelyn remembered and yet he held Sansa's arm with uncommon tenderness that immediately touched her heart.

The servants eagerly scuttled away from him as he led Sansa into the room. After looking the family over, he muttered, “Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn; I have brought your daughters, and another token of goodwill for your son.”

“Mother! Father!” Sansa laughed, clasping her hands. Catelyn noticed that she looked as though she would very much like to run to them. Ever the lady, Sansa maintained her dignity, much to her mother’s pleasure, and allowed her husband to lead her to the Tully head table.

Unable to contain herself and untroubled by such formality, Arya ran in front of her sister and goodbrother, tearfully leaping into her waiting father’s arms. Catelyn took her turn kissing and holding her youngest girl before turning her attention to her oldest.

“Sansa, dearest, it is so good to have you home!” She tearfully pulled Sansa into a tight embrace. After several long moments of hugging and crying, Catelyn moved her daughter at arms-length, carefully taking in her lovely yellow brocade gown and black sash. “You are looking so well, my sweet,” She affectionately touched her cheeks.  “So happy and beautiful you are! Ned, just look at the roses in her cheeks! Married life certainly agrees with you, dearest.”

“Yes, it certainly does, Mother,” Sansa blushingly took her husband by the hand.

Ned tipped his head toward her and rolled his eyes. Catelyn glared at him.

Seemingly unaware of her father's disgust, Sansa smiled brilliantly as she took each of her parents by the hand. “Mother, Father, it is my pleasure to introduce your goodson, Sandor Clegane.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sandor stood impassively, his dark grey eyes glittering defiantly as he looked over Ned. A smirk twitched the burned side of his mouth as he then cast his eyes toward Lady Catelyn, the harsh man’s expression softening somewhat as he did so. “Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn,” he finally spoke, dipping his head slightly. “We’ve met before, I recall.”

Sandor awkwardly offered her his hand, and Sansa nodded approvingly. _She must have coached him on his manners,_ Catelyn thought, remembering the way she did the same with Ned when they were first married.

Standing before the fearsome Hound, she took the opportunity to look over her goodson carefully. True to her prediction, he was not wearing the armor or cloak of the Kingsguard; he was dressed in all black and wearing light armor. When he spoke, his voice rasped harshly, sounding like steel gliding along a whetstone.

Even without heavy armor, Sandor Clegane was by far one of the largest men she had ever seen, and one of the most intimidating as well. Finally Catelyn said, “Yes, how good of you to remember. You were a guest of King Robert at our family seat.” She cast a nervous glance at Ned, who neither said a word nor moved to shake his hand.

“Guest, you say?” Sandor snorted derisively, and then made a harsh sound that might have been a laugh. “I had no say in the matter. I was Joff’s dog; it was my duty to look after the boy.”

“Please, you must not say such about yourself,” Sansa softly whispered, turning to face her husband. “You were never his, and far too good to be in service to the Lannisters.” She then squeezed his arm softly. “You belong to me now.”

Both Ned and Catelyn were taken aback. Arya only rolled her eyes. “She’s like this _all the time_ , Mother. It was all I could do not to throw up the entire way here.”

Brynden laughed and presented him a tankard of Dornish sour and bread dipped in salt, the tradition offering for guest rights.  “Since you are family, this is mere formality, a gesture of goodwill.”

Smiling, Sansa generously dipped the bread in the salt and delicately placed it in his mouth. When she pulled her fingers away, Sandor carefully licked the salt from each of them, all the while heatedly staring into her eyes.

Coloring deeply, Sansa laughed softly, and Sandor’s mouth twitched into a small smile in return, the fierce man clearly enjoying her reaction. Seemingly remembering they were not alone, Sandor frowned suddenly, straightened up and surveyed the family thoughtfully as he ate, finishing by swallowing the entire tankard of wine.

“And for you, my dear,” the Blackfish offered Sansa a glass of Arbor gold along with the bread and salt.

“Thank you, Uncle.” Sansa drew a nervous breath as she ate and then took several sips of the sweet wine, carefully averting her eyes from her scandalized parents.  Seeming to sense her discomfort, Sandor drew his large hand around her waist and pulled her back flush against his chest.

Catelyn stood agape, afraid to look at Ned, while Brynden chuckled heartily. “It seems the Hound has a new mistress, one who has tamed him most soundly.”

“Aye, so I have,” Sandor rasped low. Never taking his eyes from hers, he languidly wiped the salt crystals from Sansa’s mouth and then licked them off his fingers with a devilish grin. “A proper lady she is, too.”

Blushing deeply, Sansa shyly lowered her eyes. “Please, do forgive us, Uncle Brynden; we mean no disrespect.”

“Seven hells, I’m going to be sick,” Arya animatedly gagged, bringing a fit of laughter to both of her uncles. Rolling her eyes, she then eagerly downed the offering her uncle made to her while watching her family closely, alternating between staring at her parents and sister. “I’m starved. Will dinner be served soon?”

“Yes, lass,” Edmure nodded. “As soon as your kingly brother arrives.”

“Arya, ladies do not make such noises, neither do they ask when meals will be served or use the tongue of men,” Catelyn scolded angrily. “It is only natural for Sansa to be thus; this is the way of all newlyweds, as you will see for yourself one day.”

“No way, that’s not me,” Arya shook her head with a frown.

Shyly Sansa stepped forward with two cloth bound packages wrapped in the colors of House Tully for each of her uncles. “For you, Uncles, for all you have done for the family. I know it is customary for the husband to give them but I asked that Sandor allow me this.”

“We do not stand on ceremony here, my dear,” The Blackfish grinned as he unwrapped his bundle to reveal a fine dragonbone knife. “It is beautiful, dearest Sansa,” Brynden held it up to the light for closer inspection.  “Many thanks to the both of you, Cleganes.”

“You are most welcome.” Sansa beamed and squeezed Sandor’s arm. Tersely, he grunted and then nodded.

Edmure opened his package with a boyish grin, delighted by the fine bow inside. “Magnificent, dear niece. The wood is most unusual.”

 “It is from the Summer Isles, Uncle Edmure, crafted from the finest golden wood to be found.”

The Blackfish gestured to the sitting area. “Do sit down everyone. Robb should be along shortly.”

“If you will excuse me, I will see that your rooms are ready, Sansa, Sandor.” Edmure bowed and turned to leave.

“Thank you.”

Everyone stared at each other in silence until Sansa said, “Mother, Father, it is so good to see you! I cannot tell you how relieved I am to be with you again. Sandor managed to get me out of King’s Landing just before the battle of Blackwater.”

“Indeed he did,” Ned looked over his goodson suspiciously, not even bothering to hide his open distaste for the man. “Most convenient, I would say, for Clegane.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that a man in your position to make off with two highborn girls when he should be preparing to defend his king-it can hardly be called a stroke of luck that you got them. How long had you set your designs on my daughter before you finally made your move?”

“Ned!” Cateyln hissed under her breath.

“Fuck Joffrey,” Sandor rasped menacingly. “King or no, the boy meant nothing to me. Truth is, your daughters were lucky I was the one who took them.”

“They certainly are,” Catelyn ignored his swearing and smiled tightly while nudging Ned’s thigh under the table. “And we are most grateful.”

“Plenty of men worse than me could have taken your daughters,” Sandor snarled, leaning forward to stare Ned in the eye. “The capital is full of men who like to beat little girls, men who like to rape them. Saved Sansa from some of them.”

“It is true, Father,” Sansa took his hand. “Lord Tyrion begged Joffrey but he would not send help, and Sandor defied him to rescue me.”

“Good gods,” Catelyn whispered, making the sign of the Seven in front of her breast. “We are most indebted to you.”

“Yes we are indeed.  You were counting on our gratitude, weren’t you?” When Sandor remained silent, Ned explained, “You felt free to take my oldest as your reward.”

“I didn’t do it for you, or any reward. I did it for the little bird.” Scowling at Ned, he hissed, “You’re just chuffed because some bloody knight didn’t do the job for you; a dog did. Both you and your son left your precious daughters among the lions. You should be glad it was me and not one of those knights, believe that.”

“We had no choice and you know it.”

Glaring at Ned, Sandor snorted derisively and spat on the ground.

“Robb may yet annul your marriage,” Ned furiously growled out while leaping to his feet. “Then we will see what you truly want! Coin, isn't that right, and plenty of it!”

“Bugger that, Sansa’s mine,” Sandor snarled, standing in such haste that he knocked his chair over. “I’ll not give her up for any reason, you best believe!”

“Ned, stop this, please,” Catelyn took hold of his arm and urged him to sit down.

Sansa’s eyes filled with tears, leading Sandor to grudgingly follow suit. To Ned and Catelyn’s surprise, he then turned to his wife, took out a handkerchief, and gently daubed her cheeks, after which he kissed her lightly and murmured a few words they could not hear.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Ned warily surveyed the man. “Why _did_ you marry her, Clegane? A man such as you gives no thought to the gods or my daughter’s reputation. You could have gotten what you wanted by other means.”

“I wouldn’t put on such honorable airs, Stark; you allowed Robert to match her to his little shit of a son who would have taken your head had you stuck around.” Sandor roared out a laugh, cold and empty, sending a shiver through Catelyn.

The Hound was furious, that much was clear, but Sandor would not even spare a glance at Ned; instead his hard gray eyes met hers as he spoke. “Your Sansa deserves a husband who truly wants her, not just her claim.” Sandor gritted his teeth, the jaw muscles in his neck tensing with effort to restrain his emotions.  “I wed her because I love her. I’ll be good to her, Lady Stark, I swear it on every one of your fucking gods, old and new.”

“And what of Sansa? I would hear her words,” Ned insisted, turning to his daughter. “You are a good obedient girl; no doubt you wed him out of a sense of duty.”

“Oh, no, Father, please, you must believe me,“ Sansa began, taking both her father and husband by the hand. “I married Sandor because I love him, not because I felt I owed him.”

“Yeah, as hard as it is to believe, Sansa actually wanted to marry the ugly mutt.” Arya shivered exaggeratedly. “Gods know why. Can we be done with this now so we can eat?”

“Arya, that is enough,” Catelyn firmly intoned with a sharp glare.

Scolded, Arya slunk back in her chair with a frown.

“Mother, Father, I am not ignorant of my duty to the family,” Sansa nervously began. “I feared you and Robb would be disappointed. But I truly love Sandor and  no matter what Robb decides, I will have no other.” Carefully she smoothed down her skirts. “After all Sandor has done for Arya and I, I hope you will accept him as a true son.”

“Of course we will, dearest!” Catelyn wrapped her arms around Sansa. “Ned, please, Sandor has dealt with our daughters in a most honorable way. The gods have answered my prayers by means of him! Can we not just enjoy the fact that our family is reunited and let this rest for the evening?”

The two leaved doors rumbled open, admitting Robb, Jeyne, and a small council of men. Rising from her seat, Sansa curtseyed low, while Sandor grudgingly laid his sword at the young king’s feet.

“Sandor Clegane, Sansa,” Robb curtly nodded. “How is it that the king’s dog turns on his master to bring my sisters home?”

“With all due respect,” Sandor spat out, “Someone had to do it. You and your father both left Sansa in the lion’s den. The wolf girl in the company of Yoren and the men headed for the Wall-a band of criminals.”

“So you found honor, is that the way of it? Robb challenged him, moving closer to Sandor. “You are the Hound, a Clegane through and through. Father said you killed the butcher’s boy, Arya’s friend; why should we believe you have changed?”

“Robb, that was Joffrey’s fault,” Arya interrupted. “The Hound did what the prince told him, but now he’s part of our pack. Can we eat now?”

“No,” Robb shouted angrily. Ned sighed deeply. “Lass, your brother is your king now and you must speak to him as such. Besides, there’s more to consider than the matter of your friend; he has committed many wrongs in service to the king.”

Smirking, Sandor shook his head. “You killed Sansa’s wolf because the king told you to; how is it different?” Leaning forward, Sandor brought his face mere inches from Robb. “I’ll tell you how: I may have been a butcher but I don’t lie about what I am.”

“Enough!” Ned bellowed, bringing both Sansa and Catelyn to their feet. “I’ll not stand for this.”

“Wait Father, Robb, just wait a moment, please! Sandor saved another one of my friends, and he brought him here. Maybe that may make you like him better,” Arya hurriedly left the room. When she returned, she led by the hand a tall, muscular youth. Catelyn recalled Ned said he was one of Robert’s bastard sons, a young blacksmith named Gendry. “Remember Gendry, Father?”

The young man nervously fidgeted with the edge of his tunic. “Lord Stark, my lady,” he bowed awkwardly. “You do me a great honor. Do you remember talking to me in the forge?”

“Aye, I do indeed,” Ned gestured for him to take a seat. “What brings you here, lad?”

“The Hound said it was too dangerous for me to stay in King’s Landing and that you still have important business with me, you and your son.”

Ned and Robb exchanged glances.

“I’ve known all along that the boy is King Robert’s true son and heir, not Joffrey,” Sandor explained. Turning to Robb, he added, “You will need him in dealing with Stannis, my king.”

Stunned, Robb sank into the chair beside his father. “Sansa,” he said finally, “You and the women take your leave; we men need to have us a talk.”

“You best not discuss this in front of Clegane,” the Greatjon warned. “Not until we can be certain he can be trusted.”

Sansa rose once more. “I assure you that no one can be trusted more than my husband, Lord Umber.” Curtseying once more to Robb, she smiled. “There is a pressing matter that requires Sandor’s attention,  my king. With your permission, we will attend our rooms for the duration.”

Robb waved his hand dismissively, “Go on, then. We will speak more at the evening meal.”


	3. Chapter 3

During their travels, Sansa managed to send several ravens to Riverrun, hoping to smooth the way for their arrival in the eyes of her family. Knowing her father and brother would not easily be swayed, she went to great lengths to gain her mother’s approval, elaborately describing the various acts of bravery her new husband performed on her and Arya’s behalf.

Once reunited with her parents, Sansa knew all too well that her family would require far more intimate details of what led to their highborn daughter willingly marrying the Hound.  Predictably, her mother wasted no time making inquiries as soon as they were dismissed from the Great Hall.

“We have been most eager to hear how you and Sandor Clegane came to realize your feelings for each other,” Catelyn looped her arm through Sansa’s with a smile.

“Of course Mother; I will tell it with pleasure.” Sansa stiffened slightly and watched her uncle purse his lips.

“Your husband is most intimidating, Sansa,” Jeyne whispered in her ear. “And very muscular as well; such a man is well worth having, is that not so?”

Catelyn frowned at her gooddaughter. “It is true that Sandor is most impressive but I do not think this is appropriate conversation for Arya’s ears.”

“Oh, Mother,” Arya rolled her eyes. “If only you knew half of what I’ve done, you would faint dead away.”

Catelyn gaped at her until Edmure interrupted them. “This way to the family rooms.”

Behind them, Sandor snickered contemptuously. “So Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, now King Regent requires an explanation as to how his wolf daughter came to lie down with a dog. Asked his wife to get the details, is that the way of it?”

Exasperated, Edmure turned to face him. “Clegane, a man such as you must realize it is rather extraordinary that a young woman such as Sansa would willingly take a Lannister sworn shield as her husband. Some explanation is hardly unwarranted.”

“Edmure, please,” Lady Catelyn began. “It is only natural for Sandor to feel slighted after my husband and son’s inquiries.”

Swallowing hard, Jeyne nervously glanced at Sansa, who swiftly moved in between her uncle and husband.  What little courtesy Sandor had left would not be wasted on the Tully side of her family, even if they were sheltering in their seat. Nervously Sansa rested her hand on Sandor’s chest as she silently implored him to be still.

His infuriated expression softened as he returned her gaze. “Aye, true enough, that.”

“Uncle, please, if you will forgive us, we are most tired; perhaps this conversation can wait until we are refreshed?”

Edmure laughed knowingly. “Of course, my dear.”  Not sparing Sandor another glance,  he turned and continued guiding them through the castle.

In truth, Sansa was not certain how to explain the way she and Sandor came to wed. As Joffrey’s sworn shield, Sandor was never far from her from the moment she arrived in King’s Landing. 

“Well, Mother, it was a matter of her survival that I learn to adapt in the Red Keep,” she began uncertainly. “Sandor understood the roles we both were meant to play in the den of lions and took it upon himself to educate me in his own unique way, and thus we got to know it other quite well.”

“I see,” her mother replied, though Sansa was sure she most certainly did not.  “And how did you come to discover your mutual affection?”

“Pray forgive me, Mother, but I would prefer not to speak of such intimacies.”

“Of course, Sansa.”

Blushing, she lowered her eyes as the memory of that day flooded her mind. They walked on in silence with Sansa now lost in thought.

Joffrey had her stripped and severely beaten for her brother’s victories. After Tyrion interceded, Sandor carried her back to her quarters with her gown in tatters and her body bruised and bloodied.

After he settled her on the bed, Sandor stood watching her closely. “Remember what I told you about Gregor, do you?” He asked quietly, shifting uncomfortably on her bed.

“Y-yes,” Sansa struggled to control her breathing. “I have never told anyone, I swear it.”

The Hound laughed then, the sound as empty and cold as his eyes. “I know, little bird.” Leaning in, Sandor handed her a small jar. “When I heard of your kingly brother’s victories, I knew that little shit would make you bleed for it. This is the same maester’s compound my father had made for my burns.”

Deeply touched, Sansa managed a small smile despite the pain. “Thank you, Sandor; how very thoughtful.” It was the first time she used his given name, and she saw him tremble as her soft voice formed the sound.

Sandor shrugged. “It did me no good, but it might ease the pain some.”

“I am certain it would but unfortunately I will not be able to use it.”

Glaring at her, he frowned.

“I cannot reach my lashings,” she explained, “and the maids are sworn not to help me under punishment of treason.”

Sandor chewed his lip for a moment, watching as she nervously fidgeted with the jar.

“Perhaps if you would not mind, you could apply it,” Sansa finally whispered, blushing deeply while averting her eyes.

“Not a very appropriate request from a lady, now is it?” Sandor finally teased; and for once there was no mockery in his tone, only sad resignation.

Sansa’s eyes misted over, her face falling into a mirror of his expression. “Yes, I admit that is true, but you have already seen far more of me than is appropriate; is that not so?”

“Aye that it is, lass.” Before she knew what was happening, Sandor was easing the torn gown from her shoulders.

Once more Sansa blushed at the memory. No, there was absolutely no way that she would tell her mother that she initiated their intimacies by asking the Hound to undress her and tend her wounds. Glancing around her, she saw that neither Jeyne, Arya or her mother seemed aware of her embarrassment, and for that Sansa was grateful.

Sandor was surprisingly gentle, even tender, as he treated her wounds, bringing a flood of emotions to Sansa’s heart and a rush of pleasure throughout her body. He seemed moved by the experience as well, though he never said a word. When Sandor finished applying the salve, he carefully pulled her gown over her shoulders.

“There, lass, mayhap you’ll have better luck with the treatment than I.”

“Thank you. When you told me the story of your scars,” Sansa tentatively cupped the scarred side of his face, “I never dreamed you would assist in healing my own wounds. I am very grateful.”

The muscles in his jaw clenched beneath her fingers. “And I never dreamed the pretty bird would allow a scarred dog to tend her feathers.”  Abruptly he then left the room.

From that day on, the Hound would come to her late in the evening, awkwardly sitting on her bed while rubbing the salve to her bare skin. He continued even after she was certain the injuries had healed sufficiently to no longer warrant his attentions but Sansa did not have the heart to mention it to him.

Deep down Sansa knew it was inappropriate to allow their meetings to continue, but in the den of the lions, somehow propriety no longer mattered. She grew to long for his touch, for Sandor’s calloused hands gliding over her skin deeply moved her, and her heart as well as her body responded to his tender ministrations.

Indeed, the realization that her feelings for him were growing ever more romantic came as quite a shock to her. Though he never said much, it even seemed to Sansa that he shared her feelings.  One night after Sandor finished, he confirmed her thoughts by gently drawing her into his arms.

They held each other in silence, allowing their  tender embrace to speak for them. Sansa rested her hand on his cheek while Sandor leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, sighing deeply as he wrapped her close to him. The rise and fall of Sandor’s muscular chest against her cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears while surrounded in his strong yet tender embrace healed her heart and soothed her nerves.

From that night on, Sandor would hold her after treating her scars, and many times Sansa fell asleep in his arms. Ever vigilant, Sandor always left before the maid arrived. Upon awakening, Sansa never failed to be disappointed by his absence, though she knew it would hardly be appropriate for the king’s sworn shield to be seen spending the night in the private quarters of his betrothed.

Despite knowing that he detested chivalry, Sansa felt the need to express her growing affection in a tangible manner. Lovingly she made him a knight’s favor, embroidering a small bird sitting on the shoulder of a huge black hound on a silk yellow sash. One evening after Sandor tended her scars, Sansa presented it to him.

“I know you detest knights, but I could not think of another appropriate gift for you,” Sansa smiled shyly as she placed it in his hands. “I hope you will accept it as a symbol of my gratitude; I truly appreciate all you have done for me.”

“Gratitude?” Sandor rasped, chuckling low. “Is that what you feel?”

 _He hates liars._ “No,” Sansa heard herself say before she could check her tongue. “I also mean it a symbol of my deep affection for you.“

Sandor’s head snapped up to meet her eyes, his dark gaze glittering with a new, warm feeling Sansa had never before seen in the man.

“I hesitated to say it just now,” she wrung her hands, “because I cannot bear for you to mock my feelings for you.”

“Pretty little bird,” he pulled her close to him and buried his face into her neck. Sansa felt her skin flush hot clear down to her chest and brazenly she nuzzled closer to him. “You’re not meant for the likes of me, lass; believe that.”

“Please, do not tell me what I should feel, or for whom I should feel it.” Sansa turned to face him, daringly running her hands along the edge of his tunic.  Staring wide-eyed at her, Sandor drew in a sharp breath but did not move away.

Smiling softly, Sansa felt her cheeks redden. Edmure cleared his throat, startling her from her contemplations. Anxiously she looked up to see her mother, Jeyne  and Arya watching her intently.

“Forgive me, Mother; I was lost in memories there for a bit. It is hard to explain; so much that has happened…it is all quite overwhelming...”

Arya reached over and put her arm around Sansa’s waist. “I know Sissy; I know. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it; isn’t it, Mother?”

After their experiences in King’s Landing and abroad, Sansa and Arya shared a deep, unspoken understanding. Affectionately Sansa pulled her little sister against her breast and squeezed her tightly as her eyes filled with tears.

Lady Catelyn rested her arms around both girls. “We need not talk of it if it upsets you, Sansa. We have plenty of time.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

The arrival of a large contingency of Stark soldiers in the main hallway caused Sansa to nervously move closer to Sandor, looping her arm through his.

“You have nothing to fear from them, wife,” he growled low as he covered her hand with his, patting her softly. Sansa smiled at Sandor, his words recalling the first two vows he made to her. Impulsively she leaned up and kissed his cheek, and Sandor gently caressed her in return, a small twinkle lighting up his normally stormy gray eyes as he did so.

His expression reminded her of the day Sansa realized she wanted more than to just express her love in words; she wanted to show him with her body as well. After she admitted her feelings for him, they stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity.

“Sandor, you said that one day I would be glad of the hateful things you would do someday,” Sansa finally broke the silence. “Maybe I wish to be glad that I gave my maiden’s gift to you.”

The fierce man stared at her silently, his eyes softening while his mouth worked as though he were trying to form a protest.

Flushed, Sansa spoke up once more. “When I become queen, what would make me most glad is to have one night of love, one moment of happiness with you to look back upon.”

The burned side of his face twitched sharply as he considered her words. “If we do this, the king will know you did not come to him a maid on your wedded night.”

“No, he will not,” she whispered. “His enjoyment comes from pain, not the goings-on of the marriage bed. Besides, I will not survive long enough for him to discover otherwise, and we both know it. Allow me this, Sandor, please.”

Cupping the burned side of his face, Sansa lifted her lips to his, and when their eyes met, the primal hunger with which Sandor regarded her took her breath away. He traced the smooth curve of her cheek with his fingers before his mouth descended upon her, covering her lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

When finally he moved away, Sandor silently led to her by the hand to the bed and lay down beside her. “You need not fear that little shit of a king. No one will hurt you again little bird or I’ll kill them; I swear it.”

Her heart leapt at his words, and ignoring the teachings of her septa for perhaps the first time in her life, Sansa did not pull away when he carefully unlaced her gown and laid her back on the bed. She did not pull away when his hands roamed her skin, tenderly caressing her most intimate places. With gentleness Sansa did not know Sandor possessed, he carefully kissed and loved each part of her body until a fine sheen of sweat covered her body, until she wept with pleasure, until finally she sang the song he so often wanted from her.

As the night went on, Sandor took her with a frenzied blend of need and lust, and Sansa loved it. Afterward, he did not immediately get up and dress as she expected; instead Sandor clung to her, holding her close to his chest as he stroked the length of her hair. Sansa sensed he was struggling to find his words, and so she remained quiet, tracing small circles through the hair on his chest as she waited.

“You are mine now, little bird, and I’ll not give you up.” She finally heard him rasp, his voice choked with ill suppressed emotion. After regaining control of himself, Sandor continued, “I’m going, north might be, could be. I could take you with me.”

His words came out so softly that Sansa thought for a moment she misheard him. _Going? Where is he going?_ Rising up, she whispered, “What did you say?”

“I’ll not let you stay here another night. I’ll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?” Sandor’s eyes searched her face eagerly, the man desperately cleaving to hope as he awaited her answer.

“I want to be with _you_ ,” Sansa leaned up and tenderly kissed him, “wherever you go.”

Incredulous, Sandor tipped her face up to his. “What are you saying? You would stay with me even if I didn’t take you to Winterfell?”

She nodded.

Sandor’s eyes narrowed incredulously. “Bloody hells, you mean it; the truth is in your eyes.”

“I do mean it.” Sansa caressed his cheek while holding his gaze, willing him to see the love she felt in her heart for him. “I’ll not give you up, either. I have fallen in love with you, Sandor; I wish never to be parted from you.”

Sandor made a choked sound as he buried his face in her hair, clinging to her with all his might. He made love to her again, holding her gaze as he did so.  Later that same night, Sandor stole her out of the castle with surprising ease.

They said their vows in front of the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep, forever binding themselves to each other in the sight of the gods and men. Two months later, they found Arya hiding among a group of 20 recruits for the Night's Watch and Sandor convinced Yoren to allow him to take her to Riverrun.   _A hound will die for you but never lie to you._ True to his word, Sandor did not allow Joffrey to hurt her ever again. He kept her safe and killed any man who tried to hurt her. More than that, Sandor reunited her with her family.

Sansa was stirred to the present when Edmure led them through two heavily leaved doors. Smiling, her mother took her by the hand and guided her into a large room filled with tapestries embroidered with the bounties of the Riverlands, a large river rock fireplace and huge bathing tub.

Moving away from Sandor, she smiled politely. “Thank you uncle, this is a lovely room. Sandor and I are most grateful for your hospitality.”

“Think nothing of it, Sansa,” he smiled amiably. “I doubt the meeting between your father and brother will be a short one. What say I send up your dinner directly?”

Sansa was grateful that Edmure, her mother and Jeyne all were seemingly oblivious to the lustful gaze Sandor was casting over her. “That would be most welcome, Uncle; thank you.”

“Oh, can me and Gendry have our dinner too?” Arya bounced on the balls of her feet impatiently

Catelyn admonished her immediately. “Arya, it is correct to say, ‘May Gendry and I have our dinner served as well?’”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Uncle knows what I mean, Mother.”

Laughing, Edmure nodded. “Of course, Arya.”

“You have been through a most trying ordeal, Sansa. Please, try to get some rest. We will bid you goodnight.” Lady Catelyn kissed her on both cheeks, and Arya followed suit.

Finding herself alone with her husband for the first time in three moons thrilled Sansa, and as soon as he barred the door she flew into his arms. Smiling shyly, she led him toward the bay windows and stared out at the deep green water churning below. “Sandor, look at the water below-it is as green as the foliage! The view here is so very beautiful.”

“Aye that it is,” he rasped into her ear.

The feel of his warm breath caressing her neck sent a familiar shiver of anticipation through her body. Sansa leaned into his embrace. “At last we are alone!”

Sandor nuzzled into her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Tell me about the pressing matter that needs my attention, little bird.”

Shyly Sansa traced his forearm with her finger. “It is I, my love, who needs your attention.” Drawing his head down to her lips, she shyly whispered, “Let us lie down for a bit, shall we?”

Startled by her boldness, Sandor rasped out a harsh laugh and carried her to the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Readily Sandor stripped off his clothing, eying Sansa hungrily as he did so. Amused, Sansa drank in his muscular physique toned from years of training and battle, blushing all the while. Though the sight was no longer new to her, still she occasionally felt nervous and shy with her fierce, daunting husband. Not unlike his sigil, Sandor was ferocious and menacing with others; yet with her the man was tender, almost reverent.

Sandor was so much more than people realized, and Sansa wished there was some way to make her father aware of the tamer side of her husband. The meeting could hardly have gone worse in her view, yet for all that her father and Sandor said to each other in the exchange, Sansa still held on to hope that they could at least come to a mutual respect one day. As for what Robb would do, Sansa could not guess; as king he would be eager to establish his authority over the former Lannister sworn shield. Sandor could hardly be counted on to put up with such nonsense.

Resolutely she pushed the negative thoughts out of her mind as she watched him undress.  When he was as naked as his nameday, Sandor moved beside her and gently lifted her out of her gown and shift. “Gods but I’ve missed this,” he breathed against her neck.

“As have I, dearest.” Turning, Sansa wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.  “Make love to me, husband,” she whispered into his ear as he kissed along her collarbone.

“With pleasure, wife,” Sandor growled against her skin, kissing his way down to her belly. Hungrily he nibbled at the soft flesh on her inner thighs before tearing the ribbons of her smallclothes loose with his teeth.

“Oh!” Sansa gasped loudly at the feel of his hot tongue licking the length of her slit. “Sandor, we haven’t bathed yet…I, oh…” her words quickly dissolved into moans, leading Sandor to laugh devilishly.

“Bugger that, I want a taste of my sweet wife.” After settling between her thighs, Sandor set about licking and suckling her most intimate places with such fervency Sansa felt she was indeed being devoured by a ravenous dog. Fisting the sheets beneath her, Sansa moaned loudly, for the intense pleasure he brought to her chased all reasonable thought from her mind, and Sansa’s whole world soon centered solely on the feel of her beloved husband.

* * *

After the Stark small council assembled, Robb stood and motioned for quiet in the hall. “As you know, Sandor Clegane has returned my sisters to us. In addition, he has brought one of King Robert’s bastard sons, a young man named Gendry Waters. We must decide the best course of action and determine his intentions.”

“His intentions are clear enough. He got your sister as wife, securing himself safe passage north,” Roose Bolton called out. “You must annul it at once, my king, and wed her to another, more worthy man.”

“Who will have her after the Hound?”

“I would respectfully ask that you consider Ramsay.”

“No,” Ned shook his head. “I will never consent to it. She is married lawfully in the sight of the gods and men.”

Robb slowly nodded. “As you wish, Father. What of the so-called Baratheon? Clegane claims he is the rightful heir and that puts us in a perilous position.”

“So says the Hound,” Dacey Mormont stood up. “His word is worthless here. How do we know this boy is in fact the king’s son? He could have dragged any bastard north with him if only to buy himself some time with you, my lord.”

“Robert and I fostered with Jon Arryn as young men, you’ll recall. I heard it on good authority in King’s Landing and already met the boy. Mark my words, young Gendry is a Baratheon for true; he looks exactly like Robert at his age,” Ned confirmed.

“That may be true, but there is no way we can trust the Hound, I say,” the Greatjon growled. “He’s served the buggering kingslayer’s family for far too long. His loyalty is legendary, second only to his brutality in battle. It is unlikely that Clegane would give up a prestigious alliance with the Iron throne for a young highborn girl, if you’ll forgive my saying so, Your Grace.”

“I agree, Lord Umber, and yet I cannot ignore that it is an extraordinary fete Clegane has accomplished.” Robb turned to Ned. “What say you, Father?”

“There could hardly be a weaker motive for the man. He cares nothing for titles or prestige as you call it. Sandor is nothing like Gregor, of that I am certain.”

“But Father, you saw him kill Arya’s friend.”

“I saw him ride the butcher’s boy down, aye, but I cannot deny that the man holds to his own code of honor-such as it is,” Ned stiffened his lip. “What he did was in service to the Lannisters; Clegane is not known for cruelty outside of duty. And who of us has not done things in service to our realm of which we are not proud?”

A general murmur went up from amongst the assembly.

“It seems Arya has forgiven the Hound, oddly enough,” Robb looked at Ned curiously. “What do you make of that?”

“Arya is young; she’s probably tolerating him because he saved her friend.”

“How do we know that bringing Sansa and Arya here is not just part of an elaborate ruse to free Jaime Lannister?”

“Sending Joffrey’s sworn shield here to free the kingslayer while wedded and bedded to my daughter is a bit extreme even for the Lannisters.”

The Blackfish huffed, “Aye but not unlike the Imp, I’ll wager.”

“We need to speak with Clegane without the girls,” Ned stated firmly. “Then we’ll see if we can discern his true motive. Mayhap bring in Jaime Lannister as well. I’ll go fetch him at once.”

“Better take your wife along, my lord,” the Blackfish laughed knowingly. “Might need her to smooth the way with your daughters.”

“Aye,” Ned nodded gravely. “War was easier than daughters.”

* * *

 Sandor gasped for air, the man struggling to calm himself. “You are too beautiful, wife, I won’t last like this.” Suddenly Sandor rolled over on his back, carrying Sansa with him. “Get on top of me, Sansa. I want to watch you ride my cock.”

Though she was a bit scandalized, Sansa wanted to gratify him, for he had patiently waited for their intimacy during the time traveling with Arya. She flushed deep red but nevertheless enthusiastically obliged him by gingerly positioning herself over his hips and slowly sheathing his manhood deep inside her, whimpering softly as she did so. “Oh, Sandor, I have so longer for this,” she gasped out.

“Fuck,” he panted beneath her, running his hands over her breasts and arching his hips to meet her cadence.  At first Sansa was a bit unsure in her movements; Sandor loved it nonetheless and gripped her soft thighs tightly as she tentatively rolled her hips against his manhood.

“Did you hear something?” Sansa whispered, suddenly stilling and cocking her head toward the solar.

“What?” Sandor paused and then urged her to keep moving with his hands. “ No, lass, you’re nervous about fucking in your family’s seat is all. Feeling wicked, are you?”

“No…well, maybe a little bit,” she moaned out, silencing him with a deep roll of her hips.

“Whatever it is can wait.” Languidly Sandor and Sansa established a rhythm, their bodies moving together as one, and the couple’s love cries soon filled the room. “That’s it, little bird, take your pleasure. Bloody hells but you move like a goddess.”

It did not take long for Sansa to reach her peak, the young woman throwing her head back and moaning out his name at the top of her voice in the most unladylike of laments. Giggling self-consciously, Sansa collapsed on top of her husband, snuggling down in his arms. Sandor hungrily kissed her, then rolled her over on her back and pumped deep inside of her several more times before crying out his own release.

* * *

“Ned, can this not wait?” Catelyn hissed in his ear as the sound of Sansa and Sandor’s voices grew louder in the hallway. “They were on the road for a moon’s turn with Arya and this is the first opportunity they have had to be alone. Let them have their privacy.”

“How can you expect me to ignore the sound of my daughter’s voice in distress?” Ned stared at her incredulously. “Cat, perhaps they are arguing.”

A decidedly female voice echoed softly from inside the room. “Dearest, does that sound like arguing to you?”

“You do not think…they would not…it isn’t even dark outside yet!“

Catelyn raised her brow at him. “Did that ever stop us?”

Sputtering, Ned shook his head. “I…we…Cat, that was war, it was a different time-“

“Yes, it was a different time. But we are at war now, husband, and they are newly wed and likely will take every opportunity to enjoy each other just as you and I did.”

“Catelyn Stark, for shame that you should speak of our daughter so! She is a lady!”

Soon the unmistakable sounds of love cries reached the hallway, followed by laughter and silence.

“Yes, she is, Ned,” she nuzzled into his neck. “But lady or not, this is to be expected. You should be happy your daughter is enjoying her wedded life.  Now please, be discreet!”

Furious, Ned glared at Catelyn as he  pounded on the solar door. “Sansa! Clegane! Open up at once!”

Abruptly the couple was pulled from their blissful state of slumber. “What in Seven hells do you want?” Sandor snarled out, pulling Sansa closer to him. “The bloody Others had better be invading the castle!”

“He will not go until we speak to him,” she whispered in his ear. “Father, just a moment please,” Sansa calmly called out while disentangling herself from her disgruntled husband’s embrace.

“Bloody convenient timing he has, that one.” Sandor muttered under his breath as he climbed out of bed and helped Sansa into a robe. Slipping on his leather breeches, Sandor bothered to fasten the lower lacings, leaving the top gaping open in hopes of further offending Ned for interrupting them.

Jerking open the door, Sandor rested his arms on the doorframe and glowered at Ned. “What do you want? Is this how dinner is announced around here? Or is there a damned fire?”

Sandor loomed large in the doorway, his bare, battled hardened chest rippling as he pushed himself off the frame. Unable to resist, Catelyn allowed her gaze to travel over his heavily muscled chest and arms, down the the thick line of hair that trailed from his deeply carved abdominals down to his lacings.

Realizing Sandor was not wearing smallclothes, Lady Catelyn gasped softly and raised her hand to her throat. Her reaction did not escape Ned's notice; gritting his teeth, he glared at her before sharply replying, “Clegane, there is a most important matter that must be addressed at once. First, however, Lady Catelyn and I insist on seeing Sansa.”

At the sound of her name, Sansa ducked underneath Sandor’s arm, her lovely face flushed and her bright red curls in disarray, her appearance leaving no question as to the source of the sounds. Carefully she tucked her robe close to her, though Catelyn immediately noticed she was wearing nothing underneath it.

“Father, Mother; this is most unexpected. We thought you would be in council with Robb for the duration of the evening. I trust it is nothing serious?”

Just then Arya ran up with Gendry hot on her heels. “Arya, wait,” he shouted, then immediately slowed to a stop when he saw the family in the hall.

“What’s going on with you guys? We heard shouting,” Arya mumbled in between bites of bread. Glancing in between Ned and Sandor, she started to laugh. “Uh, oh, looks like Father doesn’t quite like his new goodson after all.”

“Arya, be silent this instant!” Lady Catelyn whispered in her ear.

“Oh, gross!” Arya pointed at Sandor’s breeches. “What the hell, Hound? Could you at least put on some clothes? Some of us are trying to eat!”

“Bugger off, wolf girl, I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want in my own chambers.”

Ned and Catelyn were incensed. "Arya, you will not-"

Shrugging, Arya just laughed it off. “It is alright, Mother and Father; Sandor and I like to tease each other like this. So what’s the meeting for, anyway? Must be important since you are all standing out in the hallway with Sansa in her underclothes.”

“No, my dear it is only that your father needs speak with Sandor at once.” Catelyn smiled nervously at Arya while casting a final appreciative glance over Sandor’s physique as she did so.

“Aye, I’ll bet he does, at that,” Sandor sneered, leaning down closer to Ned.

“Whatever do you mean?” Sansa affected an innocent tone, regretting it instantly when Sandor interrupted her with a harsh laugh.

“I’ll tell you exactly what your mother means, little bird: your honorable Father decided to knock on the door when he heard us loudly fuck-“

Arya hooted loudly as Sansa swiftly interrupted him by covering his mouth in a long kiss.

“Nice save, Sis,” Arya crowed before Gendry placed his hand over her mouth.

“Lord Stark, allow me to escort Lady Arya back to her room.”

Ned waved his hand dismissively as Gendry fairly carried Arya off, her laughter echoing through the hallway. Blushingly Sansa ignored her gaping parents and finally she pulled away from Sandor, gently resting her hand on his chest. “Dearest, it is quite chilly. Would you please go stoke the fire while I speak to my parents in private? I will only be a moment.”

Grinning wickedly, Sandor nodded and disappeared inside the solar. Once he was out of sight, Sansa quietly said, “Sandor and I will meet you in the solar of your rooms in a quarter hour hence.”

Catelyn reached for her daughter’s hand. “Sansa, please forgive the intrusion, we-“

“Mother, please forgive me, but I would prefer that we will discuss it then.” With that Sansa closed the door behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa irritably slammed the door, sighed deeply and rested against it, struggling to regain her composure before returning to Sandor. It would not do for him to know how angry she was, as her family’s conduct had already stretched the limit of his self-control.  Very little would be needed to send him over the edge, Sansa knew, and for once she could hardly blame him. They would naturally need time to adjust to the idea of her marriage but aside from her mother, so far their behavior had been appalling. After drawing a deep breath to clear her mind, Sansa softly padded her way back to the bed chamber, gasping as she entered the room.

There was Sandor, lying shamelessly amidst the furs wearing only a devilish grin. “Come back to bed, wife,” he growled low, patting the space beside him. “I’m not through with you yet.”

“Sandor, really,” Sansa weakly scolded, failing miserably as her eyes fell to his aroused manhood. Blushing, she smiled at him as her eyes travelled over his body.  “What if my family followed me inside? For shame, love.”

 “Haven’t got any, you know that, little bird, especially where you are concerned," Sandor lifted her into his arms with a harsh laugh and unwrapped her robe. "By the gods, you are delicious.”

Giggling, she snuggled into him. “As are you, husband.”

“If your kin are fool enough to walk in here unannounced, they can have their look for all I care.” Sandor rasped, pulling her astride his lap. His fingers languidly traced circles over the place where her hips met her thighs, drawing a deep satisfied sound from her throat.

Sansa felt him harden beneath her; halfheartedly she tried to roll away from him. “We needs get ready. I asked them to meet us in their solar in a quarter of an hour.”

“Bugger that, they can wait,” Sandor breathed into her ear. After settling her on top of him, he nibbled his way down from her ear to her neck to the hollow of her throat.

“Sandor,” Sansa breathed out, the young wife at a loss to protest any further.

Gently he rolled her over on her back. “You’re mine, lass, and I’m keeping you all to myself for just a bit longer.” Before she could answer, he pressed his manhood against her slit, rubbing the length over her until they both were soaked with her arousal.

“Let me have you, wife,” Sandor moaned into her ear.

“Yes, oh gods, yes,” she moaned, gripping his shoulders tightly.

* * *

He never dreamed he would marry anyone, least of all the little bird. Wine and women were the only two things Sandor Clegane thought a man needed; a wife and family was never part of the equation. Truth be told, he never wanted _anyone_ before Sansa but she changed his mind soon enough. Once he had her in his bed, Sandor could not live without her, and before he knew it, he offered to make her his wife.

Hesitant though he was to wed, Sandor quickly discovered there were many things he enjoyed about married life; and making love to Sansa was by far the best advantage of all. The little bird looked so sweet lying in his bed with her skin flushed pink from their lovemaking that the man could not resist pulling her tightly against him once more.

Burying his face in her hair, Sandor murmured, “You smell as sweet as you look. Might want another taste of you.”

“Sandor, you know I would love nothing more, but we must go,” Sansa blushed even as she worried the sheets in her hands.

“In a bit. I need a wash, woman,” his mouth twitched as he regarded her with amusement. “Or should I go as I am?”

“But-“

“But nothing. I don’t need you telling me when to bathe.” Sandor glowered at her.

His young wife frowned back at him for a moment before she sweetly smiled up at him. Settling back among the pillows, Sansa sighed. “Of course, love, forgive me. After so much time travelling, we both could use a bath.”

* * *

When he and Sansa finally entered the Great Hall, they were greeted with a look of irritation by Robb and Ned. Nervously Jeyne glanced up at them briefly before keeping her eyes fixed on the table. The Blackfish and Edmure, however, appeared most amused while Arya busied herself sharpening her knife.

Lady Catelyn, however, stared openly at him until Sandor finally cleared his throat. It would not help his position if Lord Stark to notice his wife giving him the once over. She tried to be ladylike about it but couldn’t fool Sandor. It was his body the little bird’s lady mother was admiring; he caught her taking her look earlier. Women  often avoided his scarred face, but Sandor had long known that his physique more than made up for it.

Ned glanced between his wife and Sandor with a stern frown. The whole situation was so bloody ridiculous Sandor could not decide whether to laugh in their faces or curse them all. Sandor looked down at Sansa, still flushed and glowing from their lovemaking and beautiful as ever. She wore a stern expression on her lovely face as he led her to her seat, the change in her demeanor sobering Sandor up.

“My king and queen,” Sansa curtsied low in the same formal, distant manner she displayed in King’s Landing; Sandor inwardly cringed to see her thus. “Mother, Father, uncles: thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

“What is this about?” Robb demanded. “I am in the midst of meeting with my council over this Gendry person Clegane brought here. Your husband has-“

“Mother! Father! Robb won’t let Sansa talk,” Arya leaned over toward her brother. “She called the meeting; it’s her turn to speak. That’s the rules.”

 Glaring at Arya, Robb started to interrupt once more before Jeyne softly laid her hand on his sleeve.

Ned side-eyed them before clearing his throat. “Please, child, we are all most eager to hear you.”

“Father, brother, I wish to say that I am most disappointed in the way you have treated my husband. Sandor rescued Arya and I, kept us safe, and returned us to you,” Sansa stared levelly at her father. Turning to Robb, she added coolly, “Despite your suspicions, he swore his allegiance to you. Once you get to know Sandor you will understand what an extraordinary offer that is and yet you still refuse to acknowledge him as your goodbrother. ”

“Sansa, this is all just a bit too much to bear,” Robb began. "With your marrying so far beneath you during wartime-"

“I understand your reluctance, but to disrespect my husband is to disrespect me. How can you say it is too much for you to understand that I wed the man I love? You wed for love, brother, and yet you question my ability to do the same,” Sansa shook her head sadly.

Hearing the little bird declare her love for him to her family overwhelmed the man. Sandor's throat tightened at her words.

Sansa squeezed his hand under the table as she went on. “You intruded on our bedchamber when courtesy requires that you respected our privacy. If you are unwilling or unable to treat us with respect as a wedded couple, we will leave at once.”

Astounded, Sandor snapped his head toward his wife. “Little bird, you want me to take you away from here?”

“Yes,” her voice quivered. “I will not stay one night where we are both unwelcome.”

She was serious, he could see it in her eyes; Sandor would not make her stay where she did not wish. “I’ll ready our things at once.”

“No, Sansa, Sandor, please!” Catelyn stood up. “Ned, Robb, you must put an end to this foolishness. Sansa just returned to us, how can you upset her so that she would rather leave that put up with the both of you?”

“We have done nothing more than is required, Mother. Sansa will have to learn that things have changed and adjust accordingly.”

“Yes, things _have_ changed, brother. You are king and I am a wedded woman. There must be consideration on both sides. I have made up my mind.”

“Sansa, Sandor, we ought not to have intruded on your bedding chamber,” Ned offered awkwardly. “Do forgive us.”

Sandor nodded tersely, though he could see Sansa was not appeased.

The Blackfish stood up and placed his hand on Catelyn’s shoulder. “Sandor, Sansa, this is our family seat. You are welcome to stay and there will be no further interferences on the part of the Stark side of the family, of that I am certain.”

“Yes, Sansa, please say you will stay,” Catelyn added.

Sansa shook her head. “Thank you uncle, but I cannot assent to stay unless Father and Robb agree to treat Sandor as family."

“Can’t say I blame her,” Arya shrugged. “You guys have been nicer to Gendry than the Hound.”

Ned and Robb exchanged a terse look. “We will treat you both with more respect, Sansa, but we still must look into Sandor’s statements about Stannis, Gendry and the Lannisters. It is nothing personal, it is the way of war; but as a woman, I do not expect _you_ would understand.”

“You speak truly. I am a woman grown, brother, though hardly ignorant to the way the game of thrones is played. If you could manage to overlook my being female, I would be able to offer much insight into the king and his mother’s approach toward all manner of matters. Spending every day at court has given me unique insight pertaining to their strategies of war, as well that of Stannis Baratheon.”

“We would welcome your help, Sansa,” Ned smiled at her, taking her hand. “Won’t we, son?”

“Yes, of course.” Robb replied curtly.

Sandor wished he could slap him the way he once saw the Imp strike Joffrey. It would be better to leave, but he could see the little bird’s resolve was wavering.

“What say you husband? Should we try staying here for a bit?”

Sansa looked up at him with such hope that he did not have the heart to tell her it was all just an act to appease her mother. Sandor had to hide a snort of derision; he gave no fucks what any of them thought about him and would sooner leave with Sansa than put up with her arrogant shit of a brother. Still, Ned’s words seemed to please his little wife and that was all that mattered to him.

“Aye, we’ll stay little bird.”

“Goodbrother, would you agree to meet with Jaime Lannister?”

Taken aback to learn that the wolves managed to capture the kingslayer, Sandor glanced toward his wife, who seemed equally surprised. _Could be some kind of trick,_ he mused, _just to see my reaction_. Carefully he schooled his face into passive disinterest.

“Of course. When?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

 _Folly, mere folly, you fool boy,_ thought Sandor; but the man merely nodded. _The lions will eat you alive if you don’t wise up soon and your father won’t be able to do a damn thing to stop them._

“May I inquire the reason you would have Sandor meet with Jaime Lannister?” Sansa asked quietly.

 Sandor patted her leg so she would be still; he didn’t want to listen to her family prattle on any longer.

Robb stubbornly folded his arms. “Sansa, I believe the kingslayer might offer a bit of useful information to his _nephew’s_ former sworn shield in hopes of securing his release.”

Snorting, Sandor casually ran the edge of his knife along the sole of his boot. “Unlikely, that.”

“Will you not agree to your king’s wishes?”

Observing Robb, young and brash with his chest puffed out made Sandor want to laugh right in the king’s face. Leaning in close to the young wolf, he growled, “I thought it was the bastard in your family who everyone said knew nothing; looks like I heard wrong, boy.”

“I am your king, and you will address me as such!”

“Certainly your Grace.” Sandor snarled out low, his wicked grin twisting his scars in a most alarming manner.

“I must agree with my husband about the unlikeliness of Jaime’s cooperation; he will confide nothing, brother,” Sansa offered softly. “The Lannisters are nothing if not calculating in both speech and action. It is highly unlikely you will catch him in a misstep.” Turning to her father, she probed further, “May I respectfully ask if this conversation between Sandor and Jaime Lannister will be used as a test of my husband’s loyalty?”

 _A clever little bird she is, sniffing out her brother’s true motive._ Furious, Sandor snarled out, “So that’s the way of it, is it?”

“No, Sansa, Sandor,” Ned sighed heavily while Robb rolled his eyes. “Walder Frey unexpectedly agreed to accept your uncle Edmure as husband for one of his daughters in your brother’s stead. We are merely wondering if Jaime Lannister may know of the reason behind the sudden cooperation.”

A cold chill drifted over Sandor. _Walder Frey, bloody cowardly weasel. That bugger has mischief on the mind_. “Let me ask you this: did Lord Frey answer Ser Edmure’s call to arms?”

“Well, he has tarried some. We had to negotiate marriages on behalf of the family to secure his support.”

"Though his house is sworn to the Tullys," Sandor raised his brow. “Yes, Ser Edmure’s nuptials were secured, but you said _family_. Who else is part of the deal?”

Ned wiped his face and muttered, “Arya.”

“WHAT?” Arya jumped up out of her seat. “Robb, how could you? After what happened with Sansa? You married me off to some weasel Frey? I’ll stick him with-”

Sansa gently rested her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Arya, I know you are upset, but please let me speak.” When Arya reluctantly agreed, Sansa continued,  “You need not send Sandor to speak to Jaime Lannister, brother. I can think of one reason Walder Frey would suddenly agree: it is because he is planning some retaliation against our family.”

Scoffing, Robb started to turn away, but Sandor held his arm in an iron grip. “The girl speaks truly,” Sandor spat out through gritted his teeth. “Get off your bloody laurels and listen to her, boy. I’ll speak to Jaime tomorrow at first light.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Wake up, little bird,” Sandor’s breath fell hot against Sansa’s ear. He had tossed beneath her long before dawn, but it was so very snug under the furs that Sansa resisted awakening as long as she could. Sandor’s strong arms wrapped protectively around her middle, cradling her against his chest. “Come. I want you beside me today. Dress.”

 _Why would he need her with him?_ Sansa doubted her father would want her in the bleak dungeons of Riverrun. Sleep called to her; it had been two moons since she had slept in a proper bed, and she did not want to leave it for some drafty dungeon. “No, too comfortable.” She burrowed back into his body and grudgingly opened her eyes. The room was still dark.

“What time is it?”

“An hour before sunup, I’d wager."

“Oh love, it is so comfortable here. Can we not stay a bit longer?”

Sandor’s rough fingertips traced circles over her shoulder. “Little bird,” he rasped a bit louder. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to spend the entire day in bed with you, but I needs you to come with me, lass. I have a suspicion that you are right as to what the Freys are about. I believe Jaime will agree, too.”

Sansa’s eyes snapped open at Sandor’s admitting he thought the same as she did on the matter. “Those wicked Freys! What sort of retaliation do you suppose they will plan? Tell me, Sandor, please.”

Sansa could feel the tension in her husband, his mood darkening as she awaited his response.

Groaning, Sandor rolled away from her. “No. Do as I say and get up now.” Irritation tinged his words, so without further questioning, Sansa readily arose and laid out his new clothing.

Knowing how he enjoyed the sight of her nude body, Sansa remained undressed.  It made her feel wanton and wicked but the simple fact was that her husband talked more when he could stare at her openly. Casually Sansa tried again to get Sandor to share his thoughts as she tied the lacings on his tunic. “Please, won’t you tell me?”

“Thought you’d distract me, did you?” Sandor laughed wickedly, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. “That all you had to do was prance around naked and I’d tell you everything?”

When Sansa pouted, he tweaked her chin. Sandor looked amused, not angry, and so Sansa laughed outright. “No of course not. I just thought you might answer me with a little persuasion.”

“You’ve already got me as riled as a greenboy, woman, no matter how many times I fuck you. And as much as I would like to play along, there’s no time for it now.”

“Sandor, be serious for a moment. I want to know what you think.”

“No, now I need you to stop this at once. There’s no sense working yourself up  until we speak with the lion when it will only upset you further.”

“Alright. But you know I can bear it, Sandor, whatever it may be.”

Sandor stopped her. “Aye, I do at that. Jaime won’t tell me truly with Ned and your brother breathing down his neck, you best believe. I need your help.”

“You will always have it, you know that.”

“I do.” He stared levelly into Sansa’s eyes.

Pride swelled her heart. “I hope they have not gone too roughly on him, Sandor. It is not our way.”

“Bloody unlikely, that.” He settled his hands around her waist, rubbing circles just above her hips soothingly. “Kings are kings, northerners or not, they don’t go lightly on the enemy.”

“Yes, I know.” Sansa worried her lip. “I’ll do my best to smooth the way for you, husband.”

“A smart little bird you are, lass.” Sandor brushed his lips against her neck. “Now dress before I take you again.”

* * *

Ned and Robb stood with their arms crossed, frowning solemnly as Sandor and Sansa approached the cell. The mirroring expressions of the men drawing a sharp laugh from Sandor in spite of the palpable tension in the air. “Goodfather; my king,” he rasped as Sansa put her arms around Ned.

“What is she doing here?” Robb demanded. “Explain yourself.”

“What do you think, boy? I asked her to come. I told you yesterday that your sister learned to chirp in the den of the lions. You need her. You would see that if you ever got your head out of your-”

“Robb,” Sansa interrupted. “Please let me help you.”

Ned took Sansa by the hand. “Such is not the place for you, child.”

“I know you wish to spare me such unpleasantness, Father, but I am no longer a child,” Sansa answered softly, “though I know you wish I was. The Lannisters robbed me of my innocent ways. Time spent with them has given me insight. Let me help you both.”

“No. It isn’t proper for the sister of the king to speak to the traitor on the Iron throne’s _uncle_.”

Sansa smoothed her skirts primly. “Jaime Lannister is Joffrey’s father and you know it, brother. Please stop this at once. To continue this pretense in front of my husband is insulting. Sandor has known the truth about Joffrey since he was a babe.”

Both Ned and Robb sharply turned to him. “And yet you said nothing?”

“Not my place to question kings and queens,” Sandor muttered low. “How do you think I managed to keep my ugly head on my shoulders? By asking fool questions of my betters?”

“Father, brother, Sandor is not the person who first told me such.” Sansa returned to her husband’s side.

“How did you come to hear it, lass?” Ned squeezed her hand. “I would have thought the Lannisters would have taken the heads of anyone who dared mention it.”

“It is the worst kept secret in King’s Landing, Father. The whole court speaks behind the backs of the queen regent and king alike, for all of their threats and punishments. Ser Barristan admitted it to me in private after Joffrey relieved him of his position in the Kingsguard.”

“Ser Barristan is no longer in service to Joffrey?”

“No, and I do not know what happened to him.”

“Stannis knows it too, which is why he feels justified in his claim to the Iron throne,” Sandor offered. “I overheard the Imp say so to the Spider. That is why Joffrey has dealt so harshly with his subjects, to prevent them from rising against him and joining Stannis.”

Ned shook his head. “You both were lucky to get out before the battle.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Sandor growled low. “Planning, aye.” Turning to Robb, he snarled loudly, “You were not coming for Sansa, that was for bloody sure, so I took the first chance I got to get her out.”

Robb opened his mouth to protest but was soon interrupted by his father. “And you brought her to us, for which her mother and I are most grateful, as is my son.”

“That was Sansa’s wish.” Sandor shrugged. “I would take her anywhere she wishes to go, believe that.”

Turning to Robb, Sansa frowned, her cheeks flushing indignantly. “You did not think it wrong to leave me in the company of Joffrey himself. You did not think it improper for me to be around the queen regent, his very own sister, for that matter. Why does this upset you so, brother?”

“A better question I couldn’t have asked myself.” Sandor added, placing his hand protectively on the small of Sansa’s back. “But kings aren’t like to answer the questions of those beneath them, isn’t that so?”

“No, and why should I?” Robb bristled angrily. “You are my guest here. It is not for me to-“

“Stop this, all of you,” Ned raised his voice. “We need to be united in this endeavor if we are to succeed. Robb, we must find out if Sandor and Sansa’s theory about the Freys is valid. Perhaps Jaime will be more likely to cooperate if you and I do not go in. We can listen from outside.”

Sandor snorted but said nothing.

“You all can come in now,” Jaime’s mocking voice echoed from inside the shale cell. “Please, don’t leave me out of this loving family moment any longer, I beg.”

Ned gestured to the sentry, who unlocked the door and stepped aside, admitting them.

Robb furiously turned away. “If either of them tries anything, kill them.”

Sansa started to reply but Ned shook his head and led her inside behind Sandor.

“Sandor Clegane as I live and breathe.” Jaime grinned wickedly. “You’re looking well.”

“Lannister,” Sandor gruffly nodded. “You look like shit.”

Jaime threw his head back and laughed. “I am certain I smell like it, too. You must forgive, my lady.”

Shaking her head, Sansa sighed heavily.

“So you stole my son’s former betrothed, I see and decided to keep her for yourself. Well done, Clegane.” Jaime dipped his head toward Sansa. “A far better match for you, my lady.  I stood by and watched one king abuse his wife; I did not relish the thought of doing so again.” His voice was resigned and devoid of emotion.

“Thank you for saying so, Ser Jaime.” Sansa answered coolly, the young woman at a loss for words as she took in the former golden knight’s ragged appearance and changed demeanor.

“Such a polite daughter you have, Stark.” He looked over Sansa carefully as Sandor sat down in front of him. “Such a quality served you well in the Red Keep, too, no doubt."

“Indeed it did, Ser Jaime.”

“Cut the small talk, lion. We needs ask you a few questions.”

“Oh, and here I thought you’d come to chat about the old days.”

Sandor barked out a harsh laugh. “Always the smart ass, even in the worst of times.”

Jaime grinned. “Just like you, Sandor.”

“Aye, true enough, that.”

Alarmed, Sansa knelt down beside him and drew out her handkerchief. “Ser Jaime, forgive me, but you look as though you have not been fed. Father, is it so?”

Ned’s mouth twisted slightly. “He killed Torrhen Karstark in an attempt to escape. Your Uncle Edmure is rationing his food as punishment.”

Sighing, Sansa turned away from Jaime. “Father, please, is there no way we can have a meal brought to him? Such is not our way, to deny prisoners food. I fear it will anger the old gods.” She met her father’s gaze and slightly inclined her head.

Raising his brow, Ned slowly assented. “Yes child, you speak truly. I’ll have it brought at once.”

After Ned left, Sansa poured Jaime a cup of water. “Forgive them, Ser Jaime. The Tullys do not worship our gods.”

After draining the cup, Jaime eyed Sansa warily.“And what do you expect in return, my lady?”

Sandor spoke up. “Heard about old Walder’s sudden agreement to wed the Tully’s to the Freys?”

Jaime nodded.

“What do you think they are up to?”

“I think there are traitors among the Stark host.”

Gasping, Sansa drew closer. “Who?”

Jaime shrugged. “Could be any of a number of men looking to claw their way closer to the Iron throne.”

Scowling, Sandor brought his face mere inches from Jaime. “Give me a name, lion.”

“And what will _you_ give me in return?”

“A way out of here, might be. A clean death.”

Sansa glanced between the men anxiously. “You crippled my brother. Your son had me stripped naked and beaten in open court. Please, if you have ever felt a moment’s remorse, tell us the name.”

“I don’t have a name,” Jaime replied. “And remorse is not our way. But if I had to wager a guess, I would say Roose Bolton.”

Sansa sputtered in disbelief, but steadfastly held her tongue when she noticed Sandor nod his head eagerly. “Aye, then we are of the same mind.”

“But why?”

“He stands to gain the most, wife.”

“Yes,” she replied weakly. “I suppose he does.” After several moments, Sansa took Jaime by the hand. “You shall be given a bath, food and a better place here, Ser Jaime. You have my word.”

His green eyes glittered with amusement. “I believe if it was within your power, you would give me all of those things, Lady Sansa; however, your kin are of another mind entirely.”

Before Sansa could answer, Ned soon returned with a servant in tow carrying two large plates of food and a flask of wine.

Sansa quickly set it before Jaime and rose. “We are finished, Father. Please, would you escort me back to our rooms? I am feeling rather weak and tired.”

“Of course, daughter.” Ned glanced between her and Sandor and then drew Sansa’s arm through his. “I’ll return shortly.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hesitant as she was to divulge the substance of Sandor and Jaime’s conversation to her father, Sansa nevertheless knew she could not avoid the topic indefinitely. Lord Stark did not become the man he was by being stupid, and Sansa understood that her father agreed to escort her back to her chambers expressly expecting her to confide in him. Struggling to hide her inner tumult, Sansa purposefully strolled alongside her father, the young woman doing her best to delay their return as long as possible.

Although she longed to gratify him, Sansa understood that honor dictated that, even though he was head of the family, Ned could not inquire about the nature of a private discourse between husband and wife. Any discussion of the matter must be initiated by Sansa and so it was entirely in her hands how to proceed.

Sansa was unsure how he would react to Sandor and Jaime’s conclusion that the Boltons were poised for betrayal. Her father already disliked Sandor and cared even less for Jaime. She certainly did not want to do anything that would make matters worse, and so Sansa decided not to offer the information outright. This situation required a different approach, one she had seen her mother successfully use many times.

“Father, both Sandor and Ser Jaime seem to believe some of our bannermen are likely to betray us, especially considering the tide of the war and the wealth of Lord Tywin. Tell me such a thing isn’t so.”

Ned sighed heavily. “They are right, Lemoncake. Both Clegane and the Kingslayer know all too well the ways of war and politics.  I have spent many nights pondering just such an event, as the Lannisters are bound to offer a pretty sum to the man who takes down the king in the north.”

“It seems like a fairly discernible tactic, Father, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Indeed. My experience with Robert taught me that the wisest way to proceed often is the most obvious.”

Sansa did not know what to make of that, but her father’s words made her uncomfortable just the same. “You are a man of war, Father, and experienced in the intricacies of the game of thrones.” She stopped midstride and faced him. “Tell me truly: who would you say stands to gain the most from usurping Robb’s claim to kingship in the north?”

Ned traced his toe on the granite floor before finally looking her in the eye. “Will you keep this between us, lass?”

“Certainly, Father.” Sansa squeezed his arm. “Please speak freely. I won’t even tell Sandor if that is your wish.”

Ned patted her arm. “A good daughter you are but I daresay the man I name would hardly come as a surprise to my goodson.” He heaved another heavy sigh. “Roose Bolton would be the man I think most inclined to turn. His wicked son Ramsay is just the man for the job, too, and Walder Frey would be more than happy to strike back at our family. Of course, they all would need someone powerful enough to go along with it, and the support of a house as big as ours.”

“The Lannisters.” Arya had said Lord Tywin was very smart and calculating, and that Cersei was more like him than Jaime. Knitting her brows, Sansa shook her head. “Why Ramsay, though, Father? What does he stand to gain? Roose Bolton does not even acknowledge him as his true born heir, even after Domeric died.”

“His father’s approval, child, which can drive certain men to do almost anything.”

Shivering, Sansa nodded understandingly. “Joffrey tried to gain his father’s approval through cruelty. Needless to say, before the king died I am certain Joffrey felt it was his failure that Robert did not love him. Then he sought to earn the respect of his subjects in the same manner.”

“We would have come for you and Arya, Sansa, you must believe that.”

“It was wise that you did not, for I fear none of you would have survived. Sandor took care of me and still does still. I hope both you and Robb will find a way to trust him.”

“Aye, I am on my way but I doubt your brother will be easily swayed.”

“Father, Sandor agrees with you about the Boltons. Please, you must convince Robb not to trust him.”

Ned frowned but said nothing.

A sick sinking feeling came over Sansa. ”What is it?”

“I have shared my fears with your brother, and Robb believes there is another way to secure the loyalty of House Bolton.”

“Good gods,” Sansa began to tremble, at once comprehending the answer. “Who is it that Robb betrothed to Arya?”

“Not a Frey, lass. A Snow.”

“Father, no!” Sansa gasped and pulled away from him. “Please, you cannot allow Robb to do this to her-“ The conversation abruptly ended when Arya met them on the staircase.

Upon seeing her father and sister’s faces, Arya’s easygoing smile fell. “What’s going on?”

“Arya, sweet; come here,” Sansa gestured to her.

“Seven hells, if you’re calling me _sweet_ it must be serious,” Arya turned to her father. “What is it now?”

Ned stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Your brother has decided you will marry, not a Frey, but Ramsay Snow.”

“What? No, no, no,” Arya shook her head, backing away from them. “Mother agreed to marry me to the bastard of Bolton?”

“Arya, you mustn’t speak that way about those not true born. Jon is not-“ Sansa began.

“I say the bastard of Bolton because he is a bastard, not by birth, but by his behavior!” Arya shouted. “He raped Lady Hornwood and starved her to death!”

“How do you know this?” Ned gripped her shoulders tightly. “Answer me, Arya!”

Arya wriggled away from him. “Hasn’t Sansa told you where she and the Hound found me and Gendry?”

Ned shot a look at Sansa, who shook her head. “No, Arya, I have not told anyone yet.”

“Harrenhal, that’s where! The walls still smell of dragonfire. Everyone was talking about Ramsay there!” Arya stood beside Sansa. “It was a horrible, brutal place. Gregor Clegane was there and Lord Tywin, and Amory Lorch and-“

Sansa put her arms around her sister. “Shh, it’s alright now.”

“Sansa, why did you not say so?” Fury spread across Ned’s face.

“It is Arya’s story to tell, Father; I left it to her when she would tell you.”

Ned knelt down to Arya and pulled her into his arms. “How did you end up in Haranhall?”

“Yoren’s convoy was attacked by the Lannisters and they took the surviving men as prisoners to Harrenhal for labor. They tortured men there. I was dressed as a boy so no one bothered me. Only Tywin and Jaqen were smart enough to see I was a girl.”

“Tywin Lannister? Are you certain?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Did Tywin know you were a Stark?” Ned leaned down to look her in the eyes.

“No, and my friend Jaqen killed any man who bothered me.”

“Where is Jaqen now?”

Arya shrugged. “He’s Braavosi. Probably the Free Cities.”

“He is of the Faceless Men, Father; I doubt anyone could find him that he did not wish to do so.”

Sighing, Ned assented. “And Clegane freed you from that place?”

“No, Jaqen did, but Sandor was just outside Harrenhal’s walls,” Arya sniffled into Sansa’s gown. “He was ready to breech the walls. He killed the soldiers sent for us, ambushed them and cut them down. He took us away from there, hid us and kept us safe. The Hound left Hot Pie at an inn where he found work and then Gendry and me made for Riverrun with them.”

“Hot Pie?”

“Her friend,” Sansa looked at her father uncertainly. “Does Mother know?

Ned shook his head.

“Arya cannot marry that monster, Father,” Sansa stood in between Arya and Ned. “Sandor and I will not stand for it.”

Ned gritted his teeth. “It’s good of you to protect your sister, lass, but I’d hoped you two would have more confidence in me that to believe I would allow Robb to give Arya in marriage to that animal.”

Arya let out a huge sigh of relief.

“What shall we do, Father?” Sansa took his hands in hers. “Say the word and it will be done, I swear it.”

Ned pulled Arya and Sansa both into a tight embrace, “Worry not, loves. I’ll convince your brother there must be another way. If I cannot, then Clegane and I will have a talk; but either way, you won’t be marrying a Bolton, believe that.”

“You’ll have the Hound steal me away from Robb?” Arya stared wide eyed and cautiously hopeful at her father. “But you hate him!”

Sansa eyed her father closely.

“I would.” Ned answered solemnly. “I don’t deny that I am not very fond of him, but I would do anything to keep you away from the Boltons. Now, not a word of this to your mother or brother or your uncles, understand?”

Both young women eagerly agreed.

“Or Gendry either.”

“Alright.” Arya grudgingly agreed. “Will he come with us?”

“We’ll see.”

“Father, forgive me, but Jaime Lannister named Roose Bolton as well. I promised him a bath, clean clothes and a better holding area for his cooperation. Would you please see that he gets these things?”

Ned smiled at her. “You have a gentle heart, daughter. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Sansa kissed his hand, after which Ned swung open the door of the solar.

“Go on, girls, take your ease. I’ll go speak with the men now.”

“Yes, Father.” Sansa kissed his cheek; Arya took her turn as well before both went inside the bedchamber.

* * *

Jaime eagerly ate his fill and drank deeply as Sandor looked on, a sardonic smirk playing across his scarred mouth. “You sang prettily enough for my wife, lion. Who knew all she had to do was smile sweetly and feed you? Robb has taken the wrong approach.”

“If you’d eaten the slop these Tully serve up, you’d know why,” Jaime laughed ruefully. “He’s a greenboy through and through. Now, what will you do for me, Clegane?”

Sandor drew a deep breath. “I’ll see that you get an audience with my goodfather. Perhaps he’ll see that you are sent to the Wall rather than executed.”

Shrugging, Jaime finished off the second flask. “That’s better than this place, I suppose. His son is most eager to prove his manhood.”

“Aye,” Sandor agreed. The door to the main cell clanged loudly, causing both men to rise to their feet. “It’s Ned and Robb.”

Several Stark soldiers flanked Lord Eddard and Robb. Ned handed Sandor the key, who quickly unlocked the cell door. “I’m taking you to your new quarters, Kingslayer,” Ned said tersely. “My daughter promised you better conditions and you shall have them.”

Jaimed eyed Robb’s sour face. “Your son seems to disagree, Lord Eddard. What say you, boy?”

Robb stared him down. “I’ll honor my sister’s word-this time.”

“You’ll honor it always, mark my word.” Sandor spat out. “Come along, lion.”

“Ah you Starks and your honor,” Jaime snorted as Sandor drug him to his feet. “Finally it seems it will work to my advantage.”

“Get this straight, Kingslayer,” Ned drew Ice and held it to his throat. “If it weren’t for honor, I’d have had your head long ago for what you did to Bran.”

“Fight me, then, you and your son. Or Clegane here.”

Ned bitterly laughed in his face. “And why would I do that?”

“To save lives,” Jaime stepped closer. “You lost two thousand men trying to take me. You fight for your family and I fight for mine: choose your weapons and let’s end this once and for all.”

“No, we’re not doing it your way, Kingslayer.” Robb hissed, gesturing for Sandor to lead him away. “Take him to the upper level of the cells. A room has been made ready for him. The guards will direct you.”

“Why this sudden care for my well-being? This is far more than concern over keeping your sister’s word as a matter of honor; after all, you _did_ leave her to fend for herself. I dread to think what would have become of her honor had Clegane here taken more after his brother and less after his father.” Scoffing, Jaime raised his brow. “Tell me truly: have you grown fond of me, boy?”

“I’m sending my men to your father with my terms of peace.” Robb spat out angrily. “And if you call me boy once more, I’ll gag you.”

Ned turned sharply toward Robb. “Son-“

“I’ve made up my mind, Father.”

Jaime laughed cruelly. “You think my father will negotiate with _you_? The last time he went to war, he offered Elia of Dorne and her two young children to Robert Baratheon as a token of fealty. My father _does not_ bargain.” Jaime watched as Ned and Robb exchanged looks. “Ask Ned if you don’t believe me. He was there.”

“Enough talk, lion. Sansa offered you food and clothing, not the opportunity to taunt her kinsmen. Away with you now.” With that Sandor sharply jerked him out of the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Arya sharpened Needle while Sansa paced the room, anxiously awaiting Sandor’s return. Outside the sounds of the changing of the guard echoed through the hall, signaling time for the noon meal.

“Where could he be?” Arya muttered, swinging her legs off the bed and kicking the trunk below. “It’s almost time to eat.”

“I do not know; perhaps he is in conference with Father and Robb.” Sansa rubbed her head fretfully. _Or arguing with them; at this rate it will be a miracle if Sandor doesn’t end up in the cells beside Jaime…_

Arya turned to Sansa, her eyes dark and serious. “Do you think the Hound will agree to take me away, as Father said? I know I was rough on him during our travels.”

Sighing, Sansa set both hands on Arya’s shoulders, squeezing them lightly. “Of course he will. You are his goodsister. Now, go to your own room and try to rest. Sandor will be along any minute.”

“Okay,” Arya nodded hesitantly. “Tell me once you’ve talked to him.”

“Certainly; as soon as I talk to him, I will send word to you,” Sansa smiled reassuringly. “Now hurry along.”

After Arya left, Sansa lit the fireplace and the candles, then opened a bottle of wine to breathe.   _No doubt Sandor will be in a foul mood when he returns._ Remembering her mother’s training, she bustled about the room, eager to make things as pleasant as possible for her husband.

The steward brought bread and cheese, leek soup, stewed rabbit and honeycakes for their afternoon meal. After setting the table, Sansa poured two glasses of wine before changing into her finest lace dressing gown. She loosened her hair the way he liked, dabbed perfume behind each ear and turned down the furs on the bed in case he wanted to rest after their meal.

When Sandor entered the room, he looked around suspiciously before chuckling low. “You mean to bribe me, Little bird?” He asked, the wicked gleam in his eye causing Sansa to flush nervously. Leisurely he traced his finger along her jawline, looking very much like a dog about to devour his prey.

His eyes turned from steel to dark ash as he regarded her. Suddenly Sandor gripped her chin tightly, his jaw clenching as he did so. “You know I don’t like these fucking games you highborns are used to playing. If you want something, lass, you only need ask.”

Exasperated, Sansa tried to pull away, but Sandor tightened his grip, pulling her body flush against his as he spoke. “Well? Do we have an agreement? Do you mean to tell me the truth?”

“Well nothing! How dare you insinuate I would lie or deceive you! Turn loose of me at once!” She jerked her head back as she squirmed in his arms. Sandor chuckled and held fast, her pitiful wriggling leading him to refuse to let go.

“I knew you would be frustrated after dealing with Father, Robb and Jaime; I merely wanted to make you comfortable,” she explained angrily. “My mother trained me thus, Sandor; there is no harm in it. Must you always be suspicious?”

“Don’t play with me, Sansa,” his breath felt hot against her cheek. “I enjoy you but I won’t put up with your chirping those stupid songs to get your way with me.” Sandor allowed his eyes to heatedly travel over her figure. “You want something bad enough to put on quite a show for me-not that I am complaining, mind you.”

Averting her eyes, Sansa lowered her head and rested her hands on his chest. “Sandor, I am not trying to persuade you to do anything; but I _am_ desperate, it is true.” She then met his gaze, which at once softened as he observed her. “Father has told me the worst imaginable thing…you cannot imagine what Robb has done!”

Heaving a great sigh, Sandor nodded and loosened his grip. “The young wolf betrothed Arya to the bastard of Bolton, aye; your father told me. I told him that degenerate little bastard would get what was coming to him with such a match. Your sister would gladly take that thin blade of hers and carve his liver in front of the septon.” Sandor chuckled mirthlessly. “Ramsay wouldn’t know what hit him.”

Sansa’s lip quivered; unable to hold back her tears, she looked down at her hands. “There is nothing funny about this situation, nothing at all.”

“Worried a bit, are you?” Sandor rasped in her ear, pulling her close once more. “Want me to kill Bolton’s bastard for you?”

“Yes,” Sansa breathed against his chest. “gods forgive me, I do, if it comes to that. Or else take my sister away with us, steal us away as you’ve always said you would. I know it is a lot to ask, Sandor, but I cannot bear to see Arya wed to that monster.”

“Your Father already asked me to do it, little bird, and I said yes,” Sandor whispered into the crown of her hair, his admission bringing a flood of relieved tears from Sansa. “Shh, easy now, lass.” He squeezed her in a tight embrace. Fingering the lace material of her gown, he added, “I’ll not make you pay for it, either.”

“Oh Sandor, you mustn’t think I would manipulate you in such a way,” Sansa hurriedly clarified, “I was telling the truth: I did mean to put you in a good mood and make things nice for you, to show you that I appreciate and love you.”

He raised his eyebrow at her warily but said nothing.

“Look at me,” Sansa tipped his face down to meet her gaze. “You know I speak the truth.”

Sandor’s deep grey eyes took on a softer expression still; gently the man brushed her hair from her eyes. “Aye, I see it in you, lass.” He smoothed his hands over her sides and settled them on her hips. “You’re not a manipulator, and a terrible liar, too, which I mean as a compliment. You must ignore my foolishness, wife-too many years with Cersei, I’m afraid.” He sighed, the sound resigned and ireful.

“I-I am loathe to ask anything more of you, especially where Arya is concerned,” Sansa sheepishly acknowledged. “I know you are not fond of her.”

“I like teasing her and she is a pain in my ass for true, but I wouldn’t allow any of your kin to end up with the Boltons, you best believe.”

Sansa sobbed in relief. “Thank you, my love-thank you for everything!” She brought his head down and kissed him with a tenderness that took Sandor’s breath away. Overwhelmed, he cleared his throat and gently moved away from her, shame filling his face. “Let’s eat, lass.”

Readily agreeing, Sansa eagerly went about fixing a plate for him and then one for herself before she sat down across from him. “Come here.” He growled, patting his leg and staring at her heatedly. Laughing, Sansa settled herself on his lap and took his plate in her hands. “Forgive me,” he rasped against her ear. “Say you will.”

“I forgive you,” Sansa leaned into him. “What would you like first?”

“You.” Sandor growled, bringing his mouth to her neck and nibbling there; Sansa sighed and rested her back against his chest, reveling in his embrace. Chuckling, Sandor gestured to the plate. “But that rabbit smells tasty, too.”

Smiling, Sansa delicately pulled the meat off the bone with a knife and fork and held it up to his mouth.

Frowning he shook his head. “With your _fingers_ , wife.”

Blushing heatedly, Sansa took a piece from the tines and placed it to Sandor’s lips. Sandor then took her fingers into his mouth as he captured the morsel, gently nibbling and sucking them clean before pulling away with a devilish grin.

“Sweet.” He murmured approvingly.

As they ate, the couple discussed the situation at hand.

“What did Father and Robb say when he returned?”

Scowling, Sandor pursed his lips together. “Your brother means to trade Jaime for gold at the Frey wedding, along with Gendry.”

“Oh good gods! What is Robb thinking?” Sansa wrung her hands. “He cannot possibly believe the Lannisters will let Gendry walk away from such an event. Sandor, they will kill him-and Robb too! A Lannister always pays his debts!”

“Aye; very likely, that.” Sandor gently stilled her hands a popped a bit of honeycake into Sansa’s mouth. “Fool boy; your father looked as though he’d seen a White Walker when your kingly brother spoke. Even Jaime-“

“What?” Sansa probed, needling his side. “What did Jaime do?”

“He told Robb he’d be better off letting me take his head than to go to the Twins.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’m sure that advice was well received.” After a moment, she whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“Your brother, goodsister and uncles make for the Twins tomorrow to arrange Arya’s betrothal and begin the wedding celebrations. Your father and mother will stay behind on the premise that you and your sister need time to recuperate and that I will bring you and Gendry along in three days. After the king leaves, we lit out of here with Arya and Gendry.”

“The Lannisters will kill Robb as certain as we are sitting here; good gods, what is the matter with my brother?” Eyes widening, Sansa looked upon her husband, who shrugged and stared at her intently in return. Something in his manner made her suspicious-was there more to it than Sandor was willing to divulge to her? “And what of Father and Mother?”

“They will rendezvous with your brother and then make for the north to collect your younger brothers. Your Father means to treat with the other northern lords as well on behalf of your brother.” Sandor shifted his gaze and cleared his throat.

“But what if the Lannisters or Freys hurt my family-mayhap even take them prisoner?” Sansa anxiously went on.

“Your father tried dissuading him, lass, but he won’t hear of it; stubborn fool,” Sandor shrugged once more. “He’s determined to collect a war chest on the kingslayer and ally with the Freys and Boltons through marriage.”

“But could not Father forbid it? He is the Warden of the North, and perhaps more rightfully king of the North than-“

“Sansa, Robb’s a man now, and a fool one at that,” Sandor interrupted, “Power has gone to his head. In any case, once a man takes hold of an idea, he’s loathe to let it go.”

“Yes of course,” Sansa mumbled, bitter tears staining her cheeks. “Even if it means his death.”

“I tried to convince your father to take Robb north but he won’t do it. All he said was, “Willful and dead before his time,” Sandor huffed. “You know what he meant?”

“Yes,” Sansa cried in earnest, “It is how he described his sister Lyanna.” Sobbing, she buried her face into his chest.

“You won’t end up like her, lass, you or your sister, believe that.” Sandor tipped her chin toward him and then stroked the length of her hair soothingly. “You aren’t going to want to hear this, but it needs saying just the same. I don’t give a buggering shit about your brother or your mother and father or this bloody war. I’ll not risk you to try to save them. All I care about is you, you and the wolf bitch. I promised when we wed that I would take care of you, keep you safe. I mean to do it or die trying, one.”

Stunned at his admission, Sansa stared in the steely gray gaze of her husband. Though it pained her to hear Sandor admit he did not care for her kin, he already made his true feelings about her family known to her many times. During their travels, Sandor would drink too much wine, then shout and swear he would never forgive them for not trying to save her and her sister from the Lannisters with a fervency that pained her deeply. Tenderly Sansa stroked his face. “And I care for you, my love; you above all. I trust you.”

After a while, Sandor took away her hand from his face and kissed it while running his fingers through the length of her hair. “Your sister is more like me at her age than I care to admit; mayhap I can do for her what no one did for me.” The burned side of his face twitched as his spoke.

“You already have, Sandor,” she kissed his cheek tenderly while stroking the burned side of his face. “You promised to keep us safe. You have kept your word, and you will do it again, I am certain.” Turning his face up to hers, Sansa whispered against his mouth. “I love you for it, Sandor.” Sighing, she kissed him deeply before asking, “Where will we go?”

“Once the Freys realize our deception, they are bound to set a bounty for Arya’s return, as will the Lannisters for Gendry, unless the kingslayer manages to talk that little shit out of it.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Sansa murmured, she knowing just as well as Sandor how determined the young king on the Iron throne was to hold his claim. “He means to kill Stannis; I do not see why he would do any different with a half sibling, one bastard born and older than him at that.”

Sandor nodded. “Your father has given me a map to a minor holdfast in the Vale he had built for you on the land gifted to him by Hoster Tully on the day he and your mother wed.”

“This is wholly unbelievable! Father had a holdfast built for me? Why?”

“He said that he hoped if anything went badly for you, that it would give you a place to escape, else mayhap it would be an inheritance for your sons. He meant it to keep you safe.”

Sansa stared blankly at him. “…so you would not end up like his sister.”

“Oh.”

“We needs tell your sister, but not everything, understand?” Sandor stared levelly at her, and Sansa nodded eagerly. “Not Robb’s plans for Gendry or they’ll be no holding her back.”

“Yes, certainly. I’ll call for her directly.”

“You do that,” Sandor murmured into her ear, pulling her close to his chest and allowing his fingers to trace the curve of her breast through the lace material of her bodice. “And afterward, I want _dessert_ ; understand?”

“Yes,” Sansa stammered, a bright flush illuminating her cheeks as she spoke. “I-I want that too.”

With that she scurried off to Arya’s rooms, leaving Sandor to his wine and lascivious thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

When Varys snuck into the black cells with word that Cersei and Joffrey planned to have him executed, Ned wasted little time planning his escape. Having obtained a key to his cell from one of the Spider’s little birds, he fled the capital under the cover of darkness that very night with a heavy heart, the man knowing in order to save his family, he would have to leave his daughters behind.

Ned was confident that Joffrey, though cruel, valued Sansa as a pretty prize, if nothing else. He believed the boy king would not hurt her; though according to Sansa and Sandor, nothing could have been further from the truth. Sansa had her manners and courtesies to wear as armor; Arya, however, he feared would not survive long.

Willful, determined, and so much like Lyanna that she frightened him, his youngest daughter had taken every opportunity during their stay to let the royal family know how she felt about them. When word reached Ned that Yoren had successfully smuggled her out of the city, a sense of relief came over him. Ned had begged the old gods to return the girls to him as well as keep the younger boys safe, and it seemed by the outcome that they had answered his prayers.

Hiding deep in the Kingswood and travelling by night, Ned met many northerners who had homesteaded in the South along the way. They were mostly smallfolk families eager to make the pilgrimage back home to avoid the Mountain and his men, but Ned still felt more at home among them than he did in King’s Landing. However, never would Ned have predicted that the northerners, having already heard he had been taken captive, promptly rebelled against the Iron throne and made his son King in the North. The people willingly hid the now King Regent in the North among them from the Baratheon and Lannister soldiers, risking their lives to protect him and sharing their meager provisions.

Though many of them enthusiastically professed their desire to proclaim _him_ King in the North in place of Robb, the smallfolk had little power to make such a declaration. Besides, it was said that Robb had already been crowned by his bannermen and the riverlords  and though the idea filled Ned with a feeling of foreboding, his sense of honor would not allow him to his subjugate his eldest son’s claim.

It seemed everyone knew it would only be a matter of time before Stannis showed up in King's Landing. Indeed, word reached Ned that Robert’s younger brother was well on his way to Blackwater Bay when he finally reached the Stark encampment. By then the Stark host had already captured Jaime Lannister, and in so doing irrevocably earned the ire of the crown.

Ned tried to convince Robb to join forces with Stannis, as he had the rightful claim to the Iron throne and set aside his own ambitions for the good of the North. It was the best chance of regaining his sisters, Ned told him, but in the end the lad was convinced by his bannerman that a Westerman would never have the best interests of the north in mind. With this thought firmly fixed in his mind, Robb continued his push south toward the capital, and Ned, not wishing to dishonor his king, supported his son. Now, however, Ned realized that in so doing, he made a grave mistake.

“Robb, your mother, your uncle and I must speak to you at once-alone.” Ned intoned while casting a dismissive glance around the room at the bannermen present, settling a particularly black glare at Roose Bolton. The Blackfish raised his brow and gestured for them to leave. “Did you not hear your King Regent?”  The Greatjon was the first to rise and, after a brief pause, the rest of Stark bannermen left the family alone, with Roose Bolton exiting last.

“What is it, Father?” Robb frowned as he glanced between them.

Ned drew a deep breath. “I have supported your claim in hopes you would see the true nature of our situation, but that has not been the case.”

“And what would that be?” Robb challenged, not disrespectfully.

“Stannis Baratheon has more right to the Iron throne than any Stark, son; surely you must see that.”

“But my bannermen-“

Brynden spoke up. “They are good men and loyal, ‘tis true, but they also want to curry favor for positions of power if and when you take the Iron throne. Allow me to speak plainly.”

Robb nodded. “Considering the way things have transpired, nephew, do you see that happening?”

The young man stiffened slightly while cold fear drained the color from his face. “I-I would like to think so, but as things stand, I do not know.”

“Search yourself; you know the truth, deep inside.” Ned patted his shoulder. “Son, you are a fine leader but we cannot battle Stannis, Balon Greyjoy _and_ the Lannisters. Individually or together, it makes no difference; we simply do not have the manpower for it. And what is more, Danaerys Targaryen is across the Narrow Sea with three dragons.”

“Baby dragons.” Robb murmured while scratching Grey Wind between the ears. “They are small yet.”

“They are a year old.” Brynden threw a large venison thigh to the massive direwolf at his nephew’s side. “And Grey Wind here is but a yearling-does that make him any less deadly?”

The men watched the enormous creature hastily devour the treat until Robb reluctantly admitted, “No.”

“Her dragons and growing every day. She has overthrown the slavers of Yunkai and has amassed an army of Unsullied and Second Sons, not to mention her husband’s Dothraki khalasar. If the men did not fear her dragons, she would be hard pressed to have so many men follow her, Targaryen or not.”

Gritting his teeth, Robb started to protest, only to be silenced by his father. “One day soon, Danaerys will return to besiege King’s Landing. Son, listen to me, please,” Ned placed his hand on Robb’s forearm, “She is a Targaryen through and through. She will take what is hers with fire and blood, make no mistake.”

“But we have reports that Tyrion Lannister has the wildfire that Aerys had the pyromancers produce-and according to Jaime it is enough to destroy King’s Landing,” Robb argued weakly. “Surely the Imp did not use all of it during the Battle of the Blackwater-“

“The Lannisters will fight only to secure their own claim, not to spare the Seven kingdoms from Danaerys’ wrath. Jaime only revealed the wildfire to you because it frightens him, as it rightly should all of the Seven kingdoms. Remember, Robert rebelled against the Targaryens and I fought alongside him. Unless I am much mistaken, she will come for us and the Lannisters first.”

“But if we-“

“All of our defenses combined will not be enough, son, believe that, against three adolescent dragons,” Ned interrupted once more. “Danaerys herself is impervious to fire whereas everyone else is not so fortunate. Her dragons react to her distress, as the direwolves do, and as they grow will become even less predictable.”

“Then why should we fear her if she cannot control her advantage?” Robb snorted. “And a woman-“

“Rhaenys and Visenya rode Vhagar and Meraxes alongside Aegon; you would do well not to underestimate her because of her gender. I knew her Father and I knew her brother, Robb; believe me when I tell you that she will not hesitate to burn everything and everyone in her path to take back the throne for her house. We must retreat to the north to ensure our survival.”

Robb sat in stony silence, mulling over his father’s words while Catelyn wrung her hands anxiously.

“How can you be certain of her intentions, Father?”

“It is bred into the Targaryens, lad, this egomaniacal entitlement and sense of invincibility,” the Blackfish growled. “You’re too young to remember what they are capable of doing to their enemies-and what we witnessed was before they had dragons, the Seven save us.”

“Would you do any less?” Ned queried. “Grey Wind fights alongside you, does he not? With our family reunited, we would avail ourselves of his sisters and brothers; why should Danaerys be any different?”

Sighing, Robb nodded resignedly.

Catelyn draped her arms over her son’s shoulders and nuzzled into the crown of his hair, just as she did when he was a boy. “I know Jeyne is with child, Robb. Believe me when I tell you that you do not want to meet a Targaryen in battle when you have so much to live for; we have our family, let that be enough. When the rightful ruler ascends to the Iron throne, we will support them.”

“But what of the men who have fought for us?” The young man’s eyes snapped up to meet his father’s steady gray gaze. “What would you have me do? Tuck tail and run? There is nothing the Lannisters would like better.”

“Send Jaime to the Wall. Free Arya of this wretched betrothal. Search out betrayers amongst us and bring them to justice. Give up the claim to the Iron throne, son, and let us return home.”

Pursing his lips, Robb’s eyes flickered toward his mother a moment before he nodded. “We can join with Stannis Baratheon and fight Joffrey and Cersei. We have an heir among our ranks that has far more claim to the Iron throne the Joff.”

“True enough, that; Gendry Waters is Robert’s son, make no mistake. I knew it from the moment I first laid eyes on him, and so did your mother, your Uncle Brynden and the Greatjon.”

Slowly Robb assented. “But how will I face my men?”

“Explain your position. They will respect you for taking the right stand, son, you must have faith in them.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Robb slowly agreed. “I will speak to Jeyne at once, and then to the men. What do I do about the Freys and the Boltons? First I betray them and now this?”

Brynden shrugged. “Edmure will still wed Roselyn; she is said to be quite fetching. They can bring the wedding party here. As for Arya, well…”

Ned stepped in, “I will tell them you spoke prematurely, and that your mother and I could not agree. I am not averse to quitting on House Bolton, for there is treachery afoot on the part of both Roose and Ramsay.”

Robb leapt to his feet. “No! Father, how can you even suggest such a thing?! He has been my most loyal-“

“He has been a viper in your bosom, son. Even Clegane and Jaime have seen it.”

Crying out in frustration, Robb pounded on the table. “Then we shall take care of them once and for all. I must speak to Clegane at once.”

Catelyn and Brynden exchanged embarrassed glances. “You may wish to wait, son, for he is with your sister at present. In their chambers. Alone.”

Robb eyes widened. “You don’t think they would-after the noon meal??” He asked incredulously.

Ned shrugged and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his breeches. “Aye.”

“But Sansa is a lady, not raised to act in such a way! Clegane has already corrupted her for true.”

“Son, have you been so very different with your wife?” Catelyn narrowed her eyes at him.

Blushing crimson, Robb sputtered, “Father, Mother-this is hardly appropriate.”

“No it most certainly is not. Do not question your sister and goodbrother’s principles in my presence, I beg. You should wait until the evening meal and then speak to them.

“No, I will speak to them at tea and no later.”

“Robb, you must not act hastily in regards to the Boltons; if this is not handled discreetly, it could very well put the family at risk. Swear to me you will wait until we conference with Sandor and Jaime before you act.”

“I swear it, Father.” Robb reluctantly muttered before agitatedly exiting the room.

* * *

 “Fuck Sansa, don’t stop…wait, oh Sansa-gods woman!” Sandor shouted out, spilling his seed as he did so. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to do that-I-“ he stammered apologetically when he regained his senses.

Giggling softly, Sansa carefully licked his softening manhood clean as he slumped back into the furs, gasping for air. “When done properly, the man isn’t supposed to be able to stop himself, or so I was told.” Sansa said matter-of-factly as she snuggled close to him while stroking his abdomen with her fingers.

“Where the fuck did you learn that? I’ll skin the bastard alive,” Sandor sat up and chuckled somewhat nervously. She had brought matters to a head most expertly, and her skill had him more than a little anxious.  Hastily he handed her a glass of wine and a handkerchief and then pulled her into his arms. “Give me a name, woman.” Sandor took a long draw from his wineskin and eyed her closely, preparing for the worst.

“Sandor please, it was not a man but a woman.” Sansa stared at him innocently.

At her words, Sandor began choking violently on his wine. “Please, calm yourself and let me explain." She patted his back. "The handmaidens in King’s Landing often described a different, more intimate way of loving, one said to please men greatly and that would not result in pregnancy. I used to be so embarrassed by their speech that I would run away, but once I fell in love with you, I paid close attention so I would learn properly.” Sansa scandalously whispered while wiping her mouth as daintily as if she just ate a lemoncake. “Later, Shae answered my questions and told me a few things. I only meant to learn for you, love. I waited until we had more privacy and I wanted to try today, because you have done the same for me many times and I-I enjoy it immensely.” With that admission, Sansa blushed furiously and buried her face in his chest.

“You’re reddening clear to your chest, love,” Sandor needled her, the scarred man thoroughly enjoying her innocent ways. He kissed her deeply and settled her into his lap while lazily tracing her nipples with his fingers.  “As innocent as a lamb you are. You needn’t worry; it will remain our secret.”

“Oh, thank you, husband, for I fear my reputation would be ruined if anyone found out that I…that I…” Sansa struggled to find the right words, and distracted as she was by his caresses, her words dissolved into a  low moan.

“What?” Sandor grinned devilishly and tipped her chin up to him. “That the King of the North’s sweet ladylike sister can suck a man off better than the best trained Lysene courtesan?”

“For shame, Sandor!” Sansa scolded before burying her face and laughing heartily into his chest, the young woman both scandalized and pleased by her husband’s bawdy praise.

“Now, let’s find something for you to enjoy.” Sandor ran his hands over her belly and inner thighs before slipping his fingers in between her slick folds.

“Oh, Sandor, yes!” She cried out with abandon while shamelessly grinding into his hand.

Just then there was a sharp knock at the door. Sansa bit her lip to keep from crying out but Sandor did not stop his ministrations.

“Give us a few minutes.” Sandor growled out while continuing to thrust his fingers inside her. Moaning, Sansa mewled and writhed in his arms.

The knocking soon grew into loud clamboring. “Clegane, this is your king; open the door.”

“Oh…oh, Sandor!” Sansa sobbed, biting her lip. Suddenly Sandor felt her inner walls clenching around his fingers as she released.

“Fuck you’re beautiful when you come,” Sandor growled in her ear, stilling his hands and pulling her tight against his chest. "My beautiful wanton wife."

“Sandor,” Sansa panted heavily, “my brother…he…”

“He can bugger off for a bit.” Sandor nibbled her ear while tenderly stroking her belly.

“Clegane, open this door at once or I’ll have it broken down!”

“You do and you’ll see something that’ll scar you for life, boy,” Sandor snarled, the man's patience suddenly coming to at an end. “And then you’ll be in for beating, you best believe.” Turning back to Sansa, he rasped, “Bloody hells, wife, we’re going to camp out if this keeps up…”

Shrugging apologetically, Sansa handed him his breeches. “Please, love, let us dress in haste before he makes good on his threat. Oh, Mother save me, he mustn’t-he wouldn’t dare break down our door!”

Sandor laughed long and low as he pulled on his breeches, the sound like a snarling dog. "If he does he'll be in for the beating of his life, king or no." As soon as he saw Sansa had tied her dressing gown, Sandor jerked open the door, the man not even bothering with his lacings. “Like Father like son.” He rasped low, watching the king’s face redden as he regarded the couple. Draping his arms over the doorframe, Sandor smirked as he sized up the gaping boy. “Want to know what we were doing or do you have some other buggering business with us?” Leaning in, Sandor grinned wickedly, “You stand out there long enough you might learn a thing or two.”

Stiffening like a ramrod, Robb angrily stammered out, “Father said you might be occupied thus but I dared not believe it! Dress, the both of you, and meet me in my conference room in a quarter hour hence!”

“Aye, we’ll be there, boy.” Sandor called before slamming the door in his face.

“Sandor, please try with him.” Sansa wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his chest.

“Bugger that, and bugger him, too. He left you in the den of the lions; I’ll not forget it, either.” Tenderly Sandor caressed her face as he stared into her eyes, his stern countenance softening as Sansa returned his gaze.

"That is over and done, love."

"Aye," Sandor muttered and then kissed her lightly before slapping her soundly on the backside. “Come wife, your kingly brother requests our presence.”


	10. Chapter 10

They were the last to enter the room. “I beg your pardon, my king,” Sansa curtseyed low to her brother. Behind her, Sandor bowed and after Robb nodded his reply, he then guided her to their seats. After taking their places at the head table, Sandor and Sansa listened quietly to Robb’s proclamation that he would cede his position as king and pledge House Stark to Stannis Baratheon.

As he spoke, Sansa anxiously gazed about the room, the young woman studiously taking in the reactions of the northern lords. Many protested the King in the North’s decision to yield to Stannis, instead preferring to continue supporting the Starks. Despite this, Robb stood firm, as did Ned and Catelyn.

Her eye fell to Jaime Lannister, who sat shackled to the floor at Robb’s feet with Grey Wind watching over him closely. When he finished speaking, Robb openly relinquished his title of King in the North and yielded to his father’s position as Warden of the North.

Shocked, the men glared at Sandor, her and Jaime Lannister by turns; only Maege Mormont stared at her levelly, and apparently pleased with what she saw, offered a small smile. Since the day she wed Sandor, Sansa had feared the northern lords’ reactions to her marriage, for most of the bannermen surely would resent a former Lannister sworn shield having close association with their king and lord, family or not.

Many had lost sons, brothers, fathers and uncles to Lannister men as well, for the north had won Robb’s battles at great cost and their feelings were plainly spoken in the glares of annoyance and envy laid upon her husband. Earlier she had begged him not to engage them and Sandor had grudgingly sworn that he would do as she wished.

True to his usual disposition, however, Sandor sat with his arms folded and eyes glimmering with derision as he looked about the room with the same disgusted expression he wore in the Red Keep. Sansa knew her husband was completely unimpressed with the northmen and their glaring eyes. He had trained with them the past few mornings, easily beating all but the Greatjon.

She watched as he closely surveyed each one of the Stark men sitting at the round table, challenging them with his glittering steel gray gaze. She recognized his demeanor at once, and Sansa feared it would take very little from her brother’s bannermen to get the real fight they seemed eager to engage him.

Most of the men shifted uncomfortably under the unflinching scrutiny of the Hound, she was relieved to discover. Only Maege Mormont and the Greatjon stared at him openly, and Sandor responded by resting his hand on his shortsword and chuckling at them irreverently. For a moment it seemed they would come to blows, but true to his promise, Sandor remained still and silent at her side. Gently she leaned forward and slipped her hand around his massive bicep, her gesture earning a chuckle from Lady Mormont.

When Sandor settled his gaze on her, he patted his longsword and then placed his hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly. “Sansa, listen to me now: while we’re here, I want you to stay by my side, lass. Swear it.”

Something in his tone unnerved her, but Sansa merely smiled at him in return. “Of course I will, love. What is it you suspect?”

He shrugged. “I want you close. Close enough to protect you.” As he spoke, Sandor shifted in his seat, his gaze settling on Lord Bolton. Following his line of sight, Sansa nodded.

Fixing his eyes on her father, Roose Bolton stood to address him. “Does this mean you will join with Renly, Lord Stark? And what of Lord Frey? He arrived an hour hence to sign the marriage treaty.”

“Renly is not the rightful king.” Ned Stark rose to his feet. “The younger brother cannot inherit before the elder. Renly cannot claim the Iron throne before Stannis anymore than Bran can inherit the lordship of Winterfell before Robb. The right course is to move toward Dragonstone and pledge fealty.” Glancing over toward Edmure, he added, “As for Lord Frey, Edmure and I will speak to him after this meeting adjourns.”

“Lord Bolton, if it is any consolation to you for the efforts you have made on behalf of my kin, rest assured that this changes nothing. I mean to wed his daughter,” Edmure offered. “If she will still have me.” A hearty laugh rose in the room. “The whole of the Riverlands will support Lord Eddard’s decision. As a bannerman of House Tully, Lord Frey will do what is expected of him.”

“None of us cares about Lord Frey!” The Greatjon growled low. “And Stannis means nothing to me, or Renly neither! Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall? Of the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!”

Sansa’s eyes fell on her mother, who shifted nervously. Her uncle patted her hand. When her eyes fell to Jaime, she saw that he did not seem offended, but rather merely smirked to himself.

Throwing back her head, Maege Mormont laughed hardily, as did Dacey. Gesturing her mace toward Jaime, she stated, “This one has to do with the decision, no doubt, my lord.”

Jaime shook his head. “You believe I would encourage you to join with Stannis or Renly over my own nephew, my lady? To what end?”

“Jaime Lannister has nothing to do with this.” Ned pronounced firmly, his tone causing the rest of the men to settle down. “However, we both wish to see as little bloodshed as possible. We both have lost far too many in this war.”

“Lannisters always pay their debts, and we’ve bloodied enough of your people that there will be a reckoning from your father, no doubt.” The Greatjon snarled in Jaime’s face. “I remember what he did at the end of Robert’s Rebellion, boy, laying the young of Rhaegar Targaryen at his feet.” Turning, he pointed at Sandor. “By the hand of this one’s elder, no less.”

The burned side of Sandor’s face began to twitch but still he said nothing. “You will not speak in such a way to my husband,” Sansa shakily rose to her feet. “I will not tolerate anyone treating Sandor Clegane with any less respect than you would treat me. Do I make myself clear?”

At Sansa’s words, Dacey Mormont laid her sword at Sansa’s feet. “I will see that your word is honored, Lady Sansa.”

Ned nodded approvingly. “There will be no more such talk. This is not about House Clegane, this is about the rightful heir to the Iron throne.”

“You bloody southerners can keep your iron chair, and your bloody red castle and your opinions to yourselves!” The Greatjon pointed at Jaime. “Why should we not rule ourselves again? I know other king than the King in the North!” He finished by slamming his fist on the huge table. “The north only yields to dragons!”

Turning to Ned, the huge man fell to one knee. “Whatever your decision, Lord Eddard, my sword is yours in victory and defeat from this day until my last day.”

Robb followed suit as did Maege and Dacey Mormont, The Blackfish and Edmure, even Gendry, until every man bent the knee. At last Sandor also knelt.

“We make for Dragonstone tomorrow,” Ned announced. “And join our army with Stannis. We will pledge ourselves to the rightful heir to the Iron throne, and when Daenerys Targaryen comes, we’ll be ready. It is our only hope of survival.” Turning to the Blackfish, he added, “We will have Edmure’s wedding here at Riverrrun after; what say you?”

“Aye, just as you have said, so it will be done.” The Blackfish announced.

When Edmure bowed his assent, the lords shouted in agreement. “To Dragonstone!”

“It is done, then.” Ned signaled the servants to serve refreshments, thus bringing an end to the meeting. Somberly the men rose to their feet, the conversations quickly turning to who he might mean as their glasses and plates were filled.  

A few men tried to approach Sandor but the man brushed past them, quickly moving beside Sansa and wrapping his massive arm around her waist and pulling her close as he did so. “Stay by my side, no matter what,” he breathed hot into her ear.

Blushing, she smiled at him while brushing a lock of black hair from his eyes. Sandor’s eyes softened as he returned her gaze, the man chuckling low as he did so.

“Treason is not unheard of in such circumstances, even among northerners,” Robb stated over the din to his small council. “So keep your ears open among the men and soldiers alike.”  

“Changed allegiance for good, have you, Dog?” The Greatjon smirked at him after Ned dismissed them. “If there’s treason afoot, my bet would be on the outsiders among us.” Sansa started to speak, but her mother shook her head at her, and so she remained silent. “Your brother has killed enough of our own. What would he say to this?”

Dacey shot Sansa a questioning look, but she shook her head with a small smile and nodded toward Sandor. Relieved, the young woman went back to her meal. Her mother, however, rose and took position beside Lord Eddard.

“If Gregor were here, I wouldn’t give a fuck what he said. I’d send him to the Seven hells myself. I’m my own dog now, and my allegiance is to my wife and her kin.” Sandor rasped low. “I’ve proven it by returning Sansa and Arya to the Starks; when the time comes, I’ll prove it again.”

Maege slapped him hard on the back at that. “Good on you, then, Hound! A true northerner you are at heart, and make no mistake. As Lord Eddard has taken you as kin, the rest of us will too!” Afterward many of the other lords offered similar words of approval, though Sansa noticed Roose Bolton held back. Sandor, for his part, said very little, though his countenance and stormy expression spoke volumes to Sansa.

When the meeting ended, Roose Bolton hurried from the ready room. “I fear he knew what is coming, Father.” Robb whispered under the guise of embracing his father. “Walder Frey is here.”

“No doubt he had his suspicions from the moment he heard Sansa and Arya had been recovered from King’s Landing.” Ned spoke into his son’s ear as he hardily returned the embrace. “I’m sure all of the men realized something might change. I believe they are most disappointed but it cannot be helped. It is for the best.”

Sansa did not understand what they meant, and hoping her father and brother would confide in her, she got up and approached Robb. “I know this is difficult for you. I really think this will have the gods blessing, brother and that is what is most important-for you and for our family.”

Jeyne placed her hand on her husband’s forearm. “I think so too.”

Forcing a smile, Robb glanced between them. “It is our only choice. We must return our family to the north, and quickly.”

“We will Robb, as soon as we meet with Stannis. Rickon and Bran need us.”

Catelyn nodded. “I will speak to Arya at once. Come Sansa, we must make haste to ready our things.”

“Why is she not here?” Sansa asked as her mother linked arms with her. “You did not wish for her to sit in?”

“I did not want it, Sansa,” Ned answered. “She’s safer where she is, and besides, she’s worried about Gendry. You and your mother and Jeyne will stay with us; we’ll see you back to your rooms. Sandor, follow me and bring Jaime Lannister. Afterward, go with the women.”

“Aye. I’ll keep them safe.” Sandor rasped.

“Ned, is this necessary?”

“Yes, wife. Come along now.”

A sharp tingle wracked Sansa’s body as her father spoke.

Sandor leaned in. “Come, Sansa.”

Distractedly she took his arm. Leaning closer still, he whispered in her ear. “We have matters to discuss-alone.”

“Yes, certainly husband,” the young woman uncertainly answered. His attitude was just as it had been in the Throne room when Joffrey had her beaten, sending waves of nervousness to her stomach.

Behind her she could hear Jaime’s chains rattling as Robb and Ned led him out of the room. Putting on her best face, she smiled genially at her father’s bannermen as they made their way to the door. “I bid you all good evening.”

“And to you and your lord husband, Lady Sansa.”

As they stepped outside the leaved doors into the courtyard, Grey Wind snarled low, pushing his way in front of Sandor and Sansa. “Wait,” Sansa held onto Sandor’s arm while casting a furtive glance into the hallway.

“What is it, boy?” Robb called softly. “What do you see?”

Out of the shadows, a dozen men wearing the two blue towers united by a bridge on silver-grey sigil of House Frey, stepped out with swords drawn.


	11. Chapter 11

Gingerly Sansa moved behind her husband, who held his swords out protectively, blocking access to her. The music in the hall was loud, along with the cheery songs sung by the northern lords.  _We are outnumbered, and no one will be able to hear us._ Quickly Sansa said a prayer to the Warrior to strengthen their hands in the fight.

“Give me a sword, boy,” Jaime muttered to Robb behind her, interrupting her thoughts as the Frey soldiers continued to rush forward. Briefly she wished he would stop testing her father’s patience and teasing her brother, especially under such dire circumstances. When she glared at him, Sansa saw genuine alarm in the kingslayer’s face. “Don’t be a fool. There’s only one reason they have come, Stark; to kill your family. Let me help you, your son and Sandor protect the women.”

Stunned, she watched as her mother pulled an elegant dagger from the sleeve of her gown and placed it in Jaime’s hand.

Drawing his own weapon, Robb gaped at her. “Mother-“

“If he meant to kill us, Robb, Jaime would have never told us what he suspected.”

Without a word, Ned unsheathed Ice and moved beside Sandor. Both men stepped forward, and Sandor’s enormous frame completely blocked Sansa’s view.

“What do you buggering bastards think you’re doing?” Sandor jerked his head toward Jaime. “His father send you?”

Lord Tywin? Would he really hire such men to rescue his son? She desperately wanted a better look, but she knew not to look around her husband and father or make any sudden movement. Sansa had seen this stance before from Sandor, and the sight brought a shiver throughout her body as she recalled the slaughter that followed with the Brotherhood without Banners.

“You know better than that, Hound,” Jaime smirked. “He’d never send the likes of these characters, unless he knew they’d be cut down.”

“You may regret this, for all your smug talk,” one of the Frey men hissed, showing a mouthful of blackened teeth as he spoke. “We’ve got you outnumbered and that counts for more.”

Sandor snarled out a harsh laugh. “Think so, do you? Then who will it be? You, big man? You look ready.” He then pointed to two smaller soldiers. “How about the both of you men? Come on, who wants to die?”

Sansa nudged Catelyn, who then moved behind Ned.

“Aye, you’re as good as dead, Hound,” the Frey man leered around Sandor and then glanced at Jeyne’s swollen belly. “Give us what we’re owed and the kingslayer besides, and you might be spared.”

“Sansa, Jeyne, to me.” Her mother quietly commanded as she pulled a second larger weapon from a concealed pocket sewn into her gown. Robb and Jaime quickly blocked access to them from the sides while in the rear, the sound of metal scraping told Sansa that Gendry also pulled his own blade.

“I’ve got them, my lady.” Sandor rasped low, then curled his lip into a grin at the sight of her weapon. “Sansa…”

At his word Sansa pulled the fighting knife Sandor had given her from her sash and brandished it with an expertise that startled her brother. He had given it to her the night they left King’s Landing, and Sandor had patiently taught her how to use it. In fact, Sansa had already killed three men with it, though she was loathe to tell her mother she had done so. As though reading her thoughts, Sandor chuckled low, though he never took his eyes off the intruders. “Ready, wife?”

“Yes.” Sansa shakily answered, determinedly holding her weapon before her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Eddard demanded angrily. “How dare you men violate the tradition of guest rights? You come into our family’s seat and make demands! By whose order did you come to us?”

“Order?” The weasely faced man smirked as the rest began laughing. “What order, m’lord? Who says we needs orders? Might be we wanted an accounting with the King in the North himself.” He moved forward. “You owe us Freys that much, you know.”

The Frey man leered once more at Sansa. “You denied me a wife, and my brother here as well. You’ve no control of your kin, Lord Eddard and yet you expect us to obey you? You, who allows this one to lie down with the Lannister dog,” he gestured toward Sansa with his sword. “Offering herself up to him every night like the wolf bit-“

He never finished his sentence, for Sandor lunged forward, thrusting his longsword in a sharp downward stroke, cutting the man clean in half. The Frey man beside him made the mistake of trying to sidestep the Hound to get to Robb, who then plunged his weapon into his belly. Afterward Robb quickly returned to his place in front of Jeyne while Sandor continued his bloody onslaught, leaving a fine spray of rust colored mist in his wake.

One of the men fell forward, and Sansa hastily dispatched him with her weapon. To her utter surprise, her mother quickly joined in with her own blows. Roaring in fury, Sandor hacked the man to pieces while Sansa and Catelyn shielded Jeyne from the viciousness. When Sansa raised her eyes, she saw her father cut down two men, with Jaime and Gendry also joining the fight. Jeyne cried out in her fear, clinging to Lady Catelyn with all her might, but none of the soldiers came even close to her, with Robb guarding the women.

“Well done, lemoncake,” her father grinned at her, surveying her bloody blade while Sandor beat back the rest in his wrath.

The rest of the men hurriedly retreated, but the brutality and efficiency with which Sandor fought had only begun. Inching forward, he taunted the rest of the men. “Come now, let’s finish this.”

His ferocity in battle seemed to surprise her brother and Gendry, but it was her father’s speed that impressed Sansa. Ned briefly glanced back at her and her mother, who offered a shaky smile at him.

“Think the ‘Lannister dog’ would let you speak of his wife in such a way?” Sandor panted angrily. “And with her lord father and kingly brother present, no less?” Sandor laughed cruelly, the sound frighteningly cold even to Sansa. She glanced at her father, who looked surprised by Sandor’s ability but nevertheless remained outwardly calm.

“You are in the home of your liege lord. You’ll not leave here alive, the lot of you, and you know it,” Lord Eddard stated. Drawing their weapons, the surviving Frey men glanced at one another, unsure of what to do next. Not waiting, Sandor began hacking away at the remaining men while Ned, Robb, Gendry and Jaime all dispatched the rest.

“Take these men alive!” Lord Eddard commanded, motioning to three older Frey men. “These are Walder’s sons.” At once Robb, Gendry and Sandor relieved them of their weapons.

“Sandor, good work. You take the women back to their quarters, and keep this quiet. Then do as we already discussed; understand?”

“Aye.” Sandor gripped Sansa’s arm tightly. She could feel his fear in his touch, and she knew his fingers would leave bruises, but she said nothing.

“Good show, Stark,” Jaime smirked. “You know I always fancied you were a bit of a Sandor Clegane fanboy, particularly after he took on the Mountain and spared your pretty daughters the horror of seeing Loras Tyrell pay for his trickery at the Hand’s Tourney.”

Annoyed, Sansa looked over her husband and noticed blood seeping down his forearm.

“My love, you are injured.” She began trembling as she fumbled with his sleeve.

“Tis a scratch, lass. Come now. I’ll keep you safe. Safe for your father.” He pointed to Gendry. “Lad, I want you with me. You handle that sword well. Guard the rear, now; don’t let anyone near.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Gendry nodded seriously.

Sandor gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw so hard that blood seeped from his mouth, but he allow the missive to pass without comment.

“My lady, I trust you can keep up.” He grinned at her mother in the same devilish manner with which he regarded her. “Little bird, you know what to do.” Sandor tipped his head toward Lady Catelyn before hurriedly making his way down the hall.

“Yes, husband.” Sansa defensively held her weapon in front of her as she, Catelyn and Jeyne followed behind him.

Robb and Ned shouted out orders and before long the hall was swarmed with northmen, who hustled the rest of the men away. “Greatjon, go and see Lord Walder Frey to the greatroom.” Robb commanded.

“Gladly.” He nodded toward Lady Mormont, who then gestured to Dacey.

“To me, daughter,” she raised her axe. “Let’s get the rest of those bloody bastards.”

* * *

After Sandor safely left Lady Catelyn and Jeyne in Lord Eddard’s rooms, he then brought her to their suite. “I’ve got to bring the maester to your goodsister,” he panted, holding her face in his hands. “All this excitement isn’t good for her in her delicate condition.”

“Do you think she will go into labor?” Sansa asked, panicking.

“No, lass, she’s healthy and sturdy in both mind and body,” he touched her chin gently. “You women are much stronger than you’re led to believe, wife. Did that bastard hurt you?” Sandor then searched her body carefully.

Rubbing her hands together, Sansa suddenly realized her hands and gown were covered in the blood of the Frey men. “I do not believe it is mine…” Her voice came out in short gasps as her heart pounded wildly still. As Sandor took her hand in his, she felt a sharp burning in her right hand.

“It is yours, lass,” he held up her palm. “You’re cut, but it isn’t deep. Sometimes you can’t feel such a wound until the fight is over. The Freys will bleed for this, buggering bastards!” Lifting her in his arms, Sandor carried her to the washbasin. “Take care and clean this out, wife; I’ll take care of the maestering as soon as I return.”

“Yes, love,” she reached out and kissed him. “You promised no one would hurt me again or you would kill them, and once again you have made good on your words. Thank you.”

His scars twisted alarmingly as Sandor’s mouth pulled into a broad grin at her words. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Little bird.” Hurriedly he kissed her soundly once more before darting from the room. 

As she bathed her wound, Sansa heard a great commotion outside her door before it noisily burst open. "Sansa!" Arya shouted, her eyes widening at her sister's bloodied hand. "Mother said you killed that man who tried for Jeyne!"

"I did." Sansa answered calmly.

"Is he your first man?" Arya stared admiringly at her sister. Quickly she hurried toward her and began tearing linens for dressing.

"No, he is my fourth." She expected Arya to crow out her approval, but instead she silently stared at her.

"You okay?"

Yes," Sansa nodded, turning away from her. "Just a bit shaken up."

Arya nodded solemnly, then pulled her sister into a brief embrace. "Good on you, Sansa. We may be different but we're both wolf blooded, you and I, just like Father and Mother." Stunned, Sansa stared at her until Arya abruptly pulled away and began rummaging through the maester chest. "Being on your palm, this needs sewing. I'm no good at needlepoint but I can sew up wounds, Sis-that is, if you want me to."

Smiling, Sansa agreed. "I would be glad for you to do it, Sister."

Grinning, Arya handed her Sandor's flask. "Drink up, then; this will hurt a bit."


	12. Chapter 12

Catelyn quickly pulled back the furs while Robb and Ned settled Jeyne down on the bed. Casting a glance at Ned, she cried out, “Husband, remove your clothes at once. The blood-“

“T’isn’t mine, wife. The man Sansa did bled all over me. She caught him right in the jugular.” Ned kissed her cheek and tweaked her chin before disappearing into the changing room. “Our Lemoncake is a wolf after all-there’s a touch of Lyanna in her for true.”

Though she would have never dreamed it possible, it was true. Catelyn had seen it all: Sansa drew her knife as assuredly as any soldier, plunging it deep into the man’s neck with all her might and drawing across his collarbone with a brutality she would never imagined her ladylike, sweet daughter possessed. She was both horrified and awed by Sansa’s ferocity, and had quickly joined her in raining blows on the man.

“Father, I should have ceded my position to you as soon as you returned to us,” Robb whispered quietly. “This may not have happened if I had only-“

Ned poked his head around the screen, exchanging glances with Catelyn before he spoke. “You mustn’t think that way. I insisted that you remain king, Robb. I informed my counselors that my first priority was finding Arya, Sansa, Rickon and Bran and then taking back Winterfell. I wanted no more to do with the game of thrones in the south but such was not to be.”

“I should have followed your lead rather than fighting my own battles and catching Jaime Lannister. I was determined to punish the Lannisters for taking my sisters and keeping you prisoner.” Robb ran his hands through his thick curly hair in the same way Catelyn had seen Ned do many times before. “What good did it do us?”

“Plenty, since it was Jaime and Sandor and Sansa who figured out what was going on and shared it with us; else we would not have been prepared for them. The gods brought Sandor and Sansa together to protect Sansa and bring her and Arya back to us in time.” Ned patted his son on the arm. “It is the will of the old gods, and though this has been most unsettling, it will work to our advantage in the long run, son; mark my words.”

Glad to see the closeness of former days returning between Robb and Ned, Catelyn smiled and her husband and son. Though she did not share in her husband’s worship, she could not deny that it made him the man she loved, and she cherished the strength his unwavering faith brought to their family. Jeyne moaned softly and turned in the bed, drawing Catelyn's eyes back to her patient.

“Will she be alright, Mother?” The worried look in Robb’s eyes made Catelyn smile briefly; it was the same way he regarded Bran after his fall-no, after Jaime Lannister _pushed_ him.

Swallowing hard, Catelyn replied, “Yes, Robb, I believe she will. She merely fainted from fear, nothing more.” Carefully she then laid her ear against the swell of Jeyne’s unborn child, a small smile playing upon her lips as she did so. “Your child is lively and well and kicking rather hard, my son; no need to fret.” Deftly she removed hot stones from the fire, placing them in heavy sheepskin and then wrapping them in woolen pillow covers.

“What shall we do with Jaime, Mother?” Robb viewed his mother admiringly as she worked; Cat recalled he had always liked watching her tend the sick in Winterfell as a boy, and his attitude in that moment recalled the very young man he still was.

His question stunned her, for he had rarely sought her council since he began ruling. “And why would you ask me such a question?”

“Though Bran is my brother, I feel it is your place to decide his fate, Mother. Jaime harmed your son, the child you carried for nine moons and labored many hours to bring into the world.” Robb shrugged. “It is what any mother would want, I should think, to sentence the man that injured her child.”

Smiling, Cat placed her hand on his. “I am certain you believe I wish him dead, and yes, I did for a time. But killing Jaime Lannister will not return Bran and Rickon to us-it will not give Bran the use of his legs back. But sending him north might save the both of them.”

Robb jerked his hand away just as Ned stepped back into the room. “Listen to your mother. Brienne of Tarth can escort him, trade him to the Ironborn for both Bran and Rickon. Or she can send him to the Wall as punishment and let Jon punish him as he sees fit.”

Slowly Robb assented. “As you wish, Mother. We shall make it so as soon as we finish here, won’t we, Father?”

“Yes.”

Turning back to Jeyne, Robb asked softly, “Will she awaken soon?”

Pleased, Catelyn nodded at him; she was relieved he had stepped down as King and more relieved still to find him willing to listen to his parents once more. Already, the burden of leadership seemed to have removed a tremendous weight from her son, although unfortunately it was soon replaced by the burden of a new, insidious threat from within their ranks. After many moons of strain, Cat was glad to see the gentleness in her son returning as well.

“Yes, love, these will soon set her to right,” Catelyn quietly said as she carefully set the cooled stones at Jeyne’s feet and low back while the maid propped her up on one side with pillows. “Come Jeyne, open your mouth and drink this draught.” She held the liquid to her good daughter’s lips. Robb held Jeyne’s head for her while whispering loving words to his beloved wife.

“I’m fine, really,” Jeyne whispered hoarsely after meekly submitting to their attentions. “I was merely frightened, and to see Sansa take on that horrible man for me with that fighting knife, why, I-“

“Shhh, daughter, it is all over now. Sansa is a wolf and did just as any Stark would do under such circumstances. Put such out of your mind. We are all safe now. Sleep.” At her words, Robb’s demeanor relaxed slightly until a sharp rapping on the door startled everyone.

“Who’s there?” Demanded Ned, resting his hand on the hilt of Ice as he approached the door.

“Sandor Clegane, my lord. I’ve brought the maester for my goodbrother’s wife.”

Catelyn smiled broadly at Ned. “Do come in, goodson.” Abruptly Sandor Clegane entered the room with the mousy maester hot on his heels.

Hurriedly the man began attending Jeyne and so Catelyn, Ned, Robb and Sandor retired to the solar.

“How good of you to bring the maester.” Catelyn offered as Ned patted him on the back. Shrugging, Sandor turned to leave. “I’ve got to get back to my wife. One of those bastards cut her hand.”

“Is she alright?” Robb gripped Sandor’s arm tightly as he spoke, the gesture sending a wave of anxiety through Catelyn.

Raising his brow, Sandor glanced down at Robb’s hand, who quickly removed it. “She’ll be fine. I’ll see to it.” With that he left the room.

“I should go to her after, to thank her,” Robb pursed his lips together. “She saved my wife.”

“Aye she did at that.” Ned squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Sansa would never expect it, but she would appreciate the gesture. It would go a long way to gaining her husband’s favor, too.”

Robb nodded.

“Come now; first we deal with the Freys and Roose Bolton.”

“My lord, a message from Lord Umber.” A voice announced, followed by a sealed note slipping under the door.

Frowning, Ned opened the envelope and read its contents.

“What is it?” Catelyn could not help but ask, alarmed as she was by the worried look in her husband’s eyes.

“Maege Mormont just captured Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Bolton, along with a small sortie, as the men attempted to scale the castle’s inner walls.”

“How did they get so far into Riverrun?”

“I don’t know,” Ned growled as he waved to Robb. “But you best believe we’ll find out.”

* * *

The rage and bloodlust of battle quickly wore off, leaving Sandor’s arms and legs as heavy as iron as he climbed the stairs to their room. The man was startled that Robb actually seemed worried about Sansa. “High time for it.” He muttered as he turned the handle. As he opened the door, Sandor saw the wolf bitch sewing up Sansa’s wounded hand.

Initially he was enraged, as Sandor was determined to treat her himself, but his anger soon melted into amusement as he watched her. Heavy brows knitted in concentration, Arya’s pink tongue showed through the slight gap in her front teeth as she worked. “So, you decided to take up sewing after all,” he smirked after a while, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Best not leave a scar on her or I’ll beat you bloody.”

Rolling her eyes, Arya shot him a dirty look before returning to her stitching. “Shut up, Hound, will you? I gotta concentrate now to get this just right.”

Her head lolling back on the pillow, Sansa turned to him then, her eyes fluttering drowsily as she tried to focus on him. “Husband, is Jeyne alright? What of Mother and the rest?”

“They’re all fine, lass. Easy now.” Sandor settled behind Sansa on the bed, carefully resting his hands on her hips, rubbing soothing circles there as Arya tied up the last suture. “Are you in pain?”

“No.” Groggily Sansa reclined in his arms and promptly fell fast asleep despite Arya’s mending.

“Bloody hells, what did you give her?”

Arya jerked her chin at the empty flask on the table. “I mixed a quarter drachm of milk of the poppy in whatever’s in that flask on your nightstand. Smelled like wine.”

Now it was Sandor’s turn to furrow his brow at her. The little bird didn’t weight very much and he worried that her well-intentioned sister might have given her more of the substance than she needed. Sandor reached around her neck and lay his hand at the base of Sansa’s throat; the little bird’s pulse beat strong under his fingertips. “You’re fortunate not have overdosed her, fool girl,” he snarled. “Or I’d have skinned you alive.”

Grinning at him, she finished wrapping the gauze around Sansa’s hand and then helped Sandor lay her back onto the bed. “Don’t worry, Hound. Maester Luwin taught me how to dose it after my tenth nameday; he said all ladies need to know how to administer medicine for the good of their household, and not rely on maesters for such. Sansa knows too; she helped me figure the amount. The wine makes it go down easier, since by itself it’s rather bitter. She drank it like a champ.”

Sighing heavily, Sandor nodded and ran his hands over Sansa’s shoulders and back as she slept. “Should put the little bird out until supper, mayhap even tomorrow. She’ll have a headache on top of hurt from her wound, mark my words, but at least she’ll get a thorough rest and won’t suffer anymore.”

“She’s tougher than you think, Hound.” Sandor doubted that, for he had long admired her strength, having watched his beloved bride withstand many a beating at the hands of the Kingsguard. In fact, Sansa had shown herself capable of enduring great suffering with an iron will the likes of which few grown men possessed.

After washing her hands, Arya settled down in the chaise and picked at the tray of bread, fruits, and cheese. “It’ll smart some for a few days. I took my time, though, and put the stitches in the line of her palm so there won’t be too much of a scar.”

“A smart little wolf you are. Many thanks.”

Pleased with his uncharacteristic words of praise, Arya popped a grape in her mouth. “You can thank me by killing every last one of those bastards. Did you get the one that made for Sansa?”

“Aye, and I cut off his hands, too.”

“Good, that’ll show ‘em.” Fidgeting, Arya quietly asked, “So, what’s the plan now, Hound? We aren’t safe here anymore.”

“You are as long as you’re with me; believe that.” Sandor growled low. “Your father, uncles, brother and the northern lords are holding council with Lord Frey as we speak.”

“Did Lord Frey know what his men did?” Her gray eyes, so like his own, grew wide with anger. “Is he gonna punish them?”

“He feigned innocence, bloody bastard, but your brother and father saw through it.” Sandor huffed at her. “No one is fool enough to believe those ignorant flops got such an idea on their own, let alone without assurance that someone more powerful would help them.”

Arya sniffed, lost in thought. “Yeah, that’s right. Might be Lord Tywin’s doing. He’s good at all sorts of planning and devious, that one. I overheard lots of his plans at Harrenhal.”

“I’ll bet you did at that,” Sandor muttered, finishing off the last of the wine in his tankard. “There’s no doubt that the old lion put them up to it; even Jaime said so.”

“What do we do now?” Arya eyed him closely, leaning forward in her seat. “You promised Father you would take care of us.”

“We’re leaving tonight lass.” Sandor cleared his throat. “You ready?”

Bounding to her feet, Arya nodded. “Yes. I packed like you said, Hound.”

“Good on you, lassie,” Sandor stroked Sansa’s hair as he spoke with a tenderness that belied his fearsome exterior. He smirked when he saw Arya first stare in stunned silence, then wrinkle her nose disapprovingly. “Remember how I taught you to read the moon and stars?”

Arya nodded eagerly.

“Be ready to leave, you and Gendry, after the second quarter of the moon. From there make for the Vale.”

“Why the Vale?” Arya gaped at him. “Are we going to Aunt Lysa? We don’t know her very well-”

“No, not the Eyrie, _the Vale_ ; get the cotton out of your ears. Just do as I say, will you? I’ve had enough of your bloody questions for one day.”

A sharp knock echoed through the room. Irritably Sandor glanced down at Sansa, afraid she would be awakened, but his wife merely snuggled closer to him. Jerking his finger at Arya, he barked low, “Open that fucking door before it wakes your sister.”

“Who’s there?” Arya hissed, placing her hand on Needle’s hilt as she spoke.

“Arya let me in. Don’t cut me now,” came Gendry’s voice through the door. “I brought hot water and lye soap for Lord Clegane, as well as more bandages.”

Hurriedly Arya unlatched the door, only opening it wide enough to admit his entry before slamming it closed.

“Thought you’d want to clean the blood off of you,” he nodded genially at Sandor, the young man seemingly embarrassed to see him holding his wife while reclining in bed. “How is your wife? Forgive me milord, I-“

“He’s gonna gut you balls to brains if you keep calling him lord, Gendry,” Arya snorted at him, and for once, Sandor joined her. “Just call him Clegane or Hound.”

“It’s alright, lad.” Sandor somewhat irritably waved him closer. Though they had travelled together, the boy insisted on tiptoeing around him still, and it annoyed Sandor to no end.  “Thanks to her sister here, her hand will heal nicely.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Gendry dipped his head before hastily filling the tub. “Arya’s right good at that sort of thing.” When Sandor groaned and rose with difficulty, Gendry added, “Need help, uh, Clegane, with your bath?”

Sandor assented, wincing as he undid the straps on his vambrace. “Might need it at that. I’m wounded.” As he removed the plate armor, blood poured out of his right pauldron, staining the floor and bedding.

“Fuck!” Sandor growled, hurrying toward the basin. Arya straightened up in her seat, staring at him wide-eyed. “I thought he caught me in the shoulder.”

“Let me help you, Hound.” Arya started toward him. “You want me to sew you up, too?”

“Just get out of here, wolf girl, lest you see me naked!” He spat at her. Sighing, Sandor continued more softly, “I know you mean well, lass. Come back when I’m done bathing, will you, and help me with this.”

“Okay, I’ll get my supplies ready.” Arya grinned at him and hurriedly left the room.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short one. I've been sick and it's been difficult to write. The next chapter will be up soon with more action, I promise. :D

“Seven buggering hells, watch what you’re doing!” Sansa heard her husband snarl low. Stiffly she tried to move but her limbs felt heavy as though they were weighed down by some unseen force.

“Just sit still a moment, will you Hound?” Arya’s voice irritably replied. “I’m almost done but all your moving around is just making me take that much longer. Now hold still!”

 _Why is Arya here? And Sandor sounds angry. What are they doing?_ The room was warm, too warm. Struggling, she kicked the furs off of her. As much as Sansa willed her eyes open, they still remained heavy while her hand began to sting fretfully. _Arya sewed up my hand_ , she faintly recalled as she continued to move out from under the coverlets.

“Shut the fuck up! You’ll wake your sister!” She felt a gentle pat across the top of her thighs.

“Me? You’re the one snarling.”

How long had she slept? The candles were lit, she could tell from the red glow behind her eyelids. The castle had grown quiet. Was it past midnight? Her head painfully thrummed as Sansa finally managed to turn her neck in the direction of the noises.

Dazedly she then opened her eyes; it was nighttime, and when her vision finally came into focus, she saw her sister sewing up a broad gash in Sandor’s shoulder. Both looked alarmed when they laid eyes on her, their seemingly synchronized startled reactions bringing a giggle to her throat.

“Sandor-“ Sansa tried to speak but her throat was dry.

“Little bird,” Sandor moved beside her, offering her a cup of water. “How do you feel?”

“My head aches. My hand stings.” Sansa’s eyes shot from the wound on his shoulder to her sister and then to the wine skin in his hand. “Tell me truly: are you hurt?”

“Aye, just a wee bit,” he shrugged. “One of the bastards caught me in the shoulder. Here, sip this,” Sandor set down the water and handed her the flask. “It’ll take the edge off.

Slowly Sansa drank a small amount of the wine, which was far too sour for her tastes, and then settled back into the pillows. The throbbing in her head soon dulled to a slight ache.  “Thank you.”

Briefly Sandor eyes softened, and he smirked at her. “Always the proper lady, my little bird of a wife.”

Arya rolled her eyes and proceeded to continue her work.  It was just like Sandor to downplay his injury. He had done so after they escaped King’s Landing, preferring to drown his pain in Dornish sour rather than have his wounds tended. By using her feminine wiles, she had managed to sweetly persuade him to allow her to treat his cuts and bruises.

Unfortunately, little could be done about the inner wounds Sansa was powerless to heal, though she hoped copious amounts of affection would dull the edges of his unspoken misery.

Once Sansa had tried to awaken him from one of the most violent of nightmares, only to find herself thrown forcefully to the floor, pinned and straddled by her husband with a wild look in his eye and his fighting knife at her throat. He had not hurt her, but he had knocked her to the ground with a force that drove the air from her lungs.

“Sandor, please, let loose your hold,” she had cried out, gasping. “Sandor, my love, it is I, your little bird.” His grey eyes clouded with horror, and the man had seemed unable to move until finally recognition swept over him.

Aside from his fear of fire at the Blackwater, it is the only time Sansa has ever seen abject terror in the eyes of her fearsome husband. Swiftly Sandor tossed the fighting knife away and lifted her into his arms, clutching her to his chest with strength that threatened to steal her breath once more. His body had been cold and clammy while his limbs shook violently as he held her. “Never stand over me when I’m asleep, wife. Promise me.” Sandor choked out as he gripped her tightly.

“Shh, it’s alright my love. I promise I won’t do it again. You did not hurt me,” she had whispered into his ear while his tears soaked the front of her sleeping gown.

“I could have killed you, Sansa,” he whispered over and over against her breast. “I could have-“

“But you did not.” Sansa had lifted his face to hers and kissed him soundly. Sandor had held her tightly the rest of the night, and after that incident he no longer slept with a weapon under his pillow.

Faintly she heard Sandor and Arya speaking. Still lost in her thoughts, Sansa paid them no mind, biting her lip at the memory of Sandor’s face that night. _Was he doomed to suffer forever in such a way? Would Sandor Clegane ever find peace?_

She wondered if she, too, would be similarly haunted by her experiences in the future. The Frey men had come for her once more in her dreams, their wounds staining her hands with a red she could not wash away. _Must it always be this way for us?_ Sansa hoped not but there was no way to know for sure.

The weight of Sandor’s intense gaze pulled her out of her thoughts, and when she raised her eyes to his, she could see that Sandor had been watching her closely, his brows knitted into a deep frown, the man clearly wondering, or perhaps worrying, about her thoughts.

“Did you not hear me?” He barked roughly. “I said that my wound is minor and that we need to leave as soon as you’re able.”

“Yes, I can see that your wound is not too severe,” Sansa finally answered before languidly rolling over closer to him. “We will leave whenever you are ready, husband. Arya, thank you for helping us. I know Sandor to be a terrible patient.” Gently she rubbed his shoulders while Arya tied up her final stitch.

Sandor’s features relaxed as he regarded her. “What troubles you? Tell me.”

“She’s just groggy, Hound.” Arya shook her head at him.

“I had a nightmare, nothing more.” Sansa rubbed her aching temples as she spoke.

“Are you in pain?” He asked softly, taking her hand from his shoulder and kissing her tenderly.

“Just a little,” Sansa gingerly moved to embrace him. “You?”

Snorting, he shook his head. “I’ve had worse wounds from bedbugs.”

“You’ve had bedbugs?” Arya gaped at him before bursting into laughter.

“No _me_ , wolf bitch; my bedding. That’s what happens when you’re with an army on the move. The baggage train isn’t exactly free of pests.” He took a long draw from his wineskin.

“Maybe you got it from one of the girls who follow along after the soldiers,” Arya commented casually, her words causing Sandor to sputter and cough. “Ever think of that? They aren’t the cleanest bunch.”

Sansa laughed, eying her husband closely.

“What do you know of camp followers, girl?” Sandor finally grunted out.

“Not much. Me and Gendry went to a brothel once, and they were the same there.”

Sandor spit out his wine, coughing, while Sansa stared at her in disbelief.

“Gendry took you to a brothel?”

“No, the Brotherhood without Banners did.”

“How’d you like it, girl?” Sandor’s lip curled into a wicked grin, though the threatening look in his eyes made Sansa fear for Gendry’s safety.

“It was no big deal. Sansa, close your mouth-it’s just an inn with girls.”

Sandor leaned over the bed and laughed long and hard. “That it is.” He finally managed in between fits of laughter. Anxiously Sansa watched Arya, wondering if her sister would give more details, but she did not.

“When do we leave?” Arya anxiously scrubbed her utensils as she spoke.

“Since Sansa is awake and ready, we leave now.” Sandor sniffed, glancing at Sansa. He was waiting for her to protest, she could tell, but instead, Sansa merely rose and gathered their meager belongings.

 _Must it always be this way? Are we never to find a moment’s peace?_ She asked the Mother silently. _Please, give our family a measure of peace, my lady; it has been so long._

Strong arms squeezed her shoulders and pressed her into a tight hug. With that simple gesture, Sansa released the tears she did not realize she was holding inside, and Arya soon joined her. Awkwardly Sandor reached around and pulled Arya into their embrace, and to Sansa’s surprise, her sister allowed it.

There the three of them stood for Sansa did not know how long, embracing, grieving, and finally, after many tears were shed, Sansa sensed both she and her sister were ready to move on.

“I’ll keep you safe-both of you,” he rasped low, looking between them. “No one will hurt either of you or I’ll kill them, believe that. Say you believe me.”

“I do, I believe you.” Sansa raised his hand to her lips and kissed him.

“I believe you too Hound,” Arya offered. “Seen you kill enough to know you always keep your word to us.”

“Good,” the burned side of his mouth twitched sharply as he searched both her and Arya’s faces. “Then no more of tears, you hear? Either of you. Let us be on our way now.”

“It’s gonna be cold in the Vale,” Arya smiled brightly. “Sansa just think-we’ll get to see the snow again!”

Smiling, Sansa nodded wearily. The Vale was far, and a difficult trip indeed. Why did Sandor want to go there? She determined that once her head cleared, she would ask, but for now she would trust her husband.

Gendry joined them in the solar, bags packed and weapons readied. It would just be the four of them once again, their own small pack. Sighing, Sansa glanced around the room longingly. She liked having a room to themselves, a deep featherbed in which to love and sleep in security. She would miss the fireplace. Most of all, she would miss her family.

It was different when she had been away from them, for the scar of loneliness had grown over the painful gash of separation, and now Sansa would have to open the wound afresh. Glancing at her sister, Sansa knew she felt the same, but surprisingly Arya remained silent as well.

Sandor had always known the right moment to leave, and though Sansa regretted leaving her family, she was not about to start questioning his instincts now. _A hound will die for you but never lie to you,_ she whispered to herself as she closed the door one last time.


	14. Chapter 14

From the time Lord Eddard asked him to take the girls from Riverrun, Sandor had hoped both Sansa and Arya would have a chance to speak to their parents alone before they took their leave. Much to his great displeasure, as they were about entered the Great Hall, Jaime Lannister and Brienne abruptly joined them in the corridor.

Her face schooled into one of bland courtesy, Sansa grasped his hand tightly, and Sandor squeezed it reassuringly in response. He could feel the tension in her body. Beside her, Arya clenched the hilt on Needle. He would not let anyone take them from him, nor the Baratheon bastard either for that matter, regardless of what the lion or the wench had in mind.

Wordlessly Jaime and Brienne fell into step with them, the woman offering him a slight smile as she moved behind Sansa. Brienne was a puzzle to the man. She believed in true knights-even fancied herself a knight of sorts-though she was widely considered as much an abomination as Sandor, an aberration that the gods for unknown reasons allowed into their midst. That did not sit well with him.

He did not like the woman. She should have learned better, Sandor silently fumed, and spit on both knights and their vows, as he did. There would never be a place in the world for people like them. The lady Brienne seemed too trusting, too willing to prove herself, and somehow too gentle hearted, qualities the kingslayer would undoubtedly exploit to his advantage on the road.

If he knew Jaime, the golden knight would have no trouble defeating her once he recovered; having Brienne escort him was as good as unlocking his shackles and allowing him to escape.

Having met the man in several tourney competitions, Sandor most certainly did not trust her fighting skills against Jaime. When she was appointed to return him to King’s Landing, he thought to speak out, though it was no hair off his arse if the Starks threw away their most valuable asset by entrusting him to an artless female who played at being a knight. Sansa was his, and he was taking her away from the game of thrones and that was all that mattered to him, so Sandor let his misgivings die on his tongue.

“Nephew! Well, a nephew _of sorts_ , anyway,” Jaime crowed loudly at the sight of Gendry. “Coming with us to King’s Landing?”

“No, milord.” Gendry muttered through gritted teeth.

“For the best, no doubt. My sister is one you should avoid at all costs; isn’t that so, Lady Sansa?”

Brienne wrenched his elbow. “Enough. You will not speak to Lady Catelyn’s daughter in such a way in my presence-is that understood?”

“Perfectly, my lady.” The lion chuckled to himself. Sansa glared daggers at the man before shaking her head at Sandor. Only he knew that Jaime often made jokes when he was nervous or uncomfortable, and his jests were no more a sign of merriment or malice than Sansa’s courtesies a sign of respect; both were done out of necessity and as coping mechanisms.

Gendry set his jaw, the young man remaining silent in the face of Jaime’s taunts despite his growing anger. Sandor, however, knew Gendry was not the one he needed to keep his eye on.

His green eyes twinkling, Jaime went on with his jest. “I must congratulate you on being the only Baratheon bastard to survive my son, though in reality it is Clegane  here whom I should be congratulating-well done, Hound.”

“Shut up lion!” Arya protectively stepped in front of Gendry, as though the young, heavily muscled blacksmith, who Sandor had seen cut down several men with ease, was unable to protect himself.

He knew better than to turn away from Arya, who looked poised to pounce on the Kingslayer at his words. Sandor hoped Jaime wouldn’t continue his gibes, for it would take very little before the wolf girl skewered his liver with her narrow blade.

As if reading his thoughts, Sansa sighed heavily moved to stand between her sister and Jaime. “Enough, I beg you, Ser Jaime. Why must you mock us? You proved your point and have your leave with our gratitude, so let this be an end to it. Lady Brienne, control your prisoner.”

“Beg pardons, my lady.” Brienne jerked at his shackles once more. “Enough with you now. You want the Starks to take your head before you leave Riverrun?”

“She speaks truly, Ser Jaime; you would do well to listen to her.”

“My, you are beautiful when you are angry. You are a lucky man indeed Clegane.” Jaime raised his eyebrow at Sansa and then started to allow his eyes to travel over her figure before Sandor wrenched his head around to face him.

“Shut the fuck up and behave yourself or else I let my goodsister gut you like a pig.” Sandor snarled, though he knew Jaime only made the lurid remark to get further under Sansa’s skin and meant no real harm.

Her gray eyes glinting murderously, Arya slowly circled back around the man as Sandor had taught her, the girl never taking her eyes off of Jaime. Her somewhat predatory behavior noticeably unnerving Brienne in the process, and it was all Sandor could do not to burst out laughing at the absurdity of their situation.

“One more word from you and I’ll stick you with Needle, Kingslayer!” Arya growled, her voice echoing against the river rock corridor and reminding Sandor of his own.

“What is she doing?” Brienne asked while hesitantly gripping her sword and mirroring Arya’s stance.

“Don’t you know?” Sandor smirked at her. “I thought you were a knight.”

“I am _not_ a knight.” Brienne answered quietly, her crystal blue eyes flickering to the ground as she spoke.

“You served on Renly’s Kingsguard. Didn’t he knight you?”

“He was too busy _knighting_ Loras.” Jaime muttered somewhat bitterly, his words earning a derisive snort from Sandor.

Brienne’s knuckles whited on the hilt of her blade. “Yes, well not exactly, I suppose in a manner of speaking he-”

“You need not explain it to Clegane here,” Jaime irritably interrupted, the man surprising Sandor with his increasingly defensive tone. “It is not of his business.”

At the sound of his voice, Arya lunged forward, digging the tip of her blade into Jaime’s neck. “No one asked you to speak. If you interrupt my goodbrother once more, I’ll cut your throat myself.”

  
“You would kill me despite the deal your father bartered for me?” Jaime eyed her warily.

“Yes, no matter the bargain my father struck, understand?” Arya stared into his eyes, the abject hatred there unsettling even to Sandor.

Jaime met Arya’s gaze, and for perhaps the first time, Sandor saw him turn away first, visibly saddened by what he had seen in the young girl’s eyes.

Sandor snarled.  “Why did you come to us?  You’ll not be guarding my wife or her sister, ever, believe that.”

“Of course, Clegane. I was sent to bring you into the Great Hall.”

“What of my wife and goodsister? And what of Gendry?” Sandor leaned closer to her, his eyes narrowing as he did so.

“They are to come as well, as is the young man in your company.” Though she looked him square in the face, Sandor was not convinced she could be trusted.

Gendry and Arya exchanged a nervous glance, but Sansa quickly placed her hands on each of their shoulders, squeezing them lightly. “It will be alright. Sandor won’t allow anything to happen to us.”

Jaime chuckled wickedly at her words. “So certain of that you are, Lady Sansa? The Hound here seems to have thoroughly tamed the wolf in you.”

“Not another word, lion,” Sandor grabbed Jaime by the scruff of the neck, shaking the man like the dog to whom he was so often likened. “Or I’ll cut out your tongue myself.”

Jaime was still laughing. “Forgive me, my lady, I meant no disrespect. I was merely pointing out the altogether unexpected changes your marriage has brought about in each of your dispositions.”

“And what would you know of my disposition?” Sansa asked haughtily. “You know me not, other than by sight, so I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself or else Sandor will make good on his threats, I can assure you.”

“And what of your sister?”

Sandor stood beside Arya. “My sister _does not_ make threats, no more than my husband. If Arya should decide to act, you will feel her blade in your belly and neither Brienne nor Sandor will be able to stop her.”

A commotion at the other end of the corridor drew their attention away from Sansa.

“What is this now?” Jaime nodded toward the great hall. The Greatjon, Maege and Dacey Mormont and the Blackfish escorted Walder Frey, Ramsay and Roose Bolton toward the dais.

Sandor bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood at the sight of the traitors standing before Robb, Lord Eddard, Edmure and the Blackfish. “Stay back, all of you.” He insisted, waving them into a nearby alcove. “Keep on the watch and hidden from view. I’ll see what this is about.”

“But Sandor you are hurt-“ Sansa reached out to him and slipped her hand into his own, the fear in her eyes angering him further still. “Please my love, do be careful of your injury. We will be on the road soon, with no maester to tend you-I cannot bear for it to get worse.” Lowering her eyes, Sansa sighed shakily at the last word, the almost imperceptible gesture cleaving Sandor’s heart.

“I’ll live, Sansa, believe that. I have no intention of starting a fight, but should it come to that, I’ve fought with far worse so calm yourself, lass,” Sandor raised her hands to his lips and kissed each of them tenderly, the man understanding that the lingering effects of the milk of the poppy fairly accounted for her melancholy as much as their departure. “Now let me see to this.”

She nodded sadly and moved beside Gendry, who gently placed his hand on her arm. “It will be alright, my lady. Take your ease and let us handle this.”

Sandor watched Sansa’s brow furrow but quickly she unsheathed her knife and ducked into the shadows. Brienne silently moved beside him.

Arya glanced between them. “We’ll see to Sansa, Hound. Don’t worry; she’s still a bit teary from the milk of the poppy is all. Gendry, get your weapons readied now. We don’t know who might be about.”

After unsheathing both greatsword and short sword, Sandor hardened his face into the visage of the Hound. He heard Jaime’s and Brienne’s footsteps falling fast behind him. Curling his lip into a snarl, Sandor stalked toward the Boltons and Walder Frey, the man secretly pleased to see the three men start at the sight of him. Raising his greatsword, Sandor pointed at Walder Frey. “Lord Frey, your men tried to kill my wife. Cut her hand in the struggle too. What do you have to say?”

Roose Bolton stepped away from Walder Frey, only to be held firmly in place by Brienne. “Your men were involved too, were they not?” She asked quietly while digging the hilt of her sword in between his shoulder blades. “Answer him.”

“I don’t know what you mean, my lady.” Roose answered mockingly.

Sandor spat at his feet. “You _will_ be, by the time I’m through with you.”

Maege Mormont chuckled at his words while scratching her chin on the flat of her axe while the Blackfish, Edmure and Ned all moved away from Sandor.

“Are you going to just allow the Hound to have his way in your family seat, Lord Edmure?” Lord Walder tisked low. “Your father Hoster would turn over-“

“Do not presume to speak of my father,” Lady Catelyn stepped forward, “neither will you spout your assumptions on his behavior here. He would not have tolerated any man under his roof that would plot to assassinate his grandchildren, I can promise you that!”

Brynden Tully placed his hand on Lady Catelyn’s back. “The punishment is the same across the Seven kingdoms, and my brother would see them enforced in his own house. Lord Edmure will oversee as the heads of the family whose members were attacked mete out justice for their wounded. That would be you, Lord Stark and you, Lord Robb. And since Sansa was also wounded, that would include you, too, Sandor Clegane.”

At the sound of his name, Sandor bared his teeth at both men. “Hand over the men who gave the order, or get cut down, one.”

“You cannot speak to us this way! We come from respectable houses-“

Robb struck Roose hard across the jaw, silencing the man. “That is not the answer my goodbrother was seeking. Answer him; who gave the order?”

Walder Frey blurted out, “It was the bastard of Bolton! He planned it! I would never have thought of such if not for him and Lord Tywin’s promises!”

Roose looked as though he could slit the old man’s throat himself, but Brienne held fast.

“You are sworn to the service of our house,” Robb stared at him levelly. “How could you betray us for Lannister gold?”

“I had nothing to do with it.” His answer came weakly as he glared at Ramsay, who merely laughed at his father’s words.

“He said it would end the war!” Lord Frey explained.

“He promised to make you rich, you mean,” Ned shouted out. “Take them!” Brienne and Sandor quickly shackled the three men, who apparently knew better than to struggle.

“I did it for you,” the young man hissed in return, his face suddenly darkening as he spoke. “You should be Lord of Winterfell, not these men.” Ramsay spit on the ground.

“You had nothing to do with it, you say, Lord Bolton? How is that possible? Your men would not follow this bastard born man with no name and no titles without your lead.”

When Roose hesitated, Sandor plunged his greatsword into the man’s belly, spilling his intestines out on to the limestone floor. Brienne hurriedly stepped in front of Lady Catelyn, grimly watching him as she did so.

When Ramsay tried to speak, Sandor then did the same to him, his actions startling the rest. ”I’m not listening to one more shit word that comes out of their lying throats! They’ll be entering the Seven hells together now,” Sandor sneered

Walder Frey blubbered his explanations incoherently but Sandor paid him no mind as he looked up.He expected to meet Lady Catelyn’s horrified face, but instead, she leaned down and looked into Roose Bolton’s eyes as his lifeblood poured out of him.

“My children and my unborn grandchild. You would have taken them from me, Lord Bolton. Go into the Seven hells for it.” She whispered before returning to Ned’s side.

“Goodson, escort Walder back to his host.” Ned ordered, gesturing to the nearby soldiers to carry the body of Roose Bolton away.

“With pleasure,” Sandor growled low. Yanking the weaselly man close, he hissed in his ear, “Get ready to meet your gods, Frey.”

“Lord Eddard, you cannot do this! I-I-“ Lord Frey’s wailing was soon silenced as Sandor pulled him from the room and the sharp, unmistakable crack of bone echoed in the hall. To his surprise, no one came to see about the sound. When the body of Walder Frey returned to his men with no explanation from Sandor as to his manner of death, Brynden Tully called for Maester Vyman to examine the man, who then swiftly concluded the old man died falling down one of the many staircases in Riverrun.


	15. Chapter 15

Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn quietly entered the stables as Sandor was loading the last of their daughter's things onto a small cart. For several long moments the couple stared at their daughters, neither of them willing to speak and break the stillness of the livery.

“Come on, boy, help me with these horses,” Sandor finally muttered to Gendry as he glanced between Sansa and Lady Catelyn. “Let’s leave them to it.”

Gendry nodded curtly as he closely eyed Arya, the two men then disappearing into the stalls and leaving Arya and Sansa alone with their parents.

“Mother, Father-I so wish we could stay together,” Sansa began to cry as soon as Sandor was out of sight. “It has been so long since the family has been in one place. Must we go?”

“Maybe you could come with us after you treat with Stannis,” Arya offered sadly, though Sansa knew by the tone of her sister’s voice that she knew the only safe alternative was to separate for their family. “We know you needs support Robb and smooth the way with Stannis for him.”

Catelyn stepped forward and cupped Arya’s chin in her hand. “He is King Stannis to you. Remember my house words, the both of you.”

“Family, duty, honor,” Sansa repeated softly, sniffling as she did so. “We remember them well, Mother.”

“We all must do our duty for the family, and we will be together very soon," Catelyn forced a smile. "It won’t be very long until you and Robb and Sansa and Bran and Rickon will all be together again.”

“And Jon too?” Arya asked excitedly.

Sansa watched her parents exchange a terse glance. “Yes, Jon too.” Ned added with a taut smile. “But for now we must part.”

“Aw, Sansa, we’re gonna miss the baby being born and everything.” Arya’s shoulders slumped forward while her sister wept harder still.

“I know, Arya, but we must do our part.” Sansa snuffled. Sandor stepped out, wiped her face and then handed her a handkerchief before resuming his preparations.

Catelyn and Ned put their arms around each of the girls, forming a small circular embrace. “You two stick together and do as Sandor says,” he tapped his finger on Arya’s nose. “He has my orders so I want you to obey him as though I were giving them, understand? And make Gendry part of the family.”

“Your orders?” Arya tilted her head, ignoring the comment about Gendry. “You gave Sandor orders? What do you mean, Father?”

“He’s to take you to a very special place in the Vale.”

Arya chewed her lip. “Are we going to see Aunt Lysa? Sandor wouldn’t tell me the last time I asked.”

“No. Now I want you to go along with it and stay there until I call for you. Swear it, the both of you.”

“Certainly, Father,” Sansa sniffed and wiped her eyes. “We will do our duty for the family.”

“I swear it too,” Arya chewed her lip anxiously. “I’ll look after Gendry and make sure Sansa and Sandor’s wounds stay clean, too-I’ll tend them both proper. But what of the Mountain clans?”

“You’ll be safe there." Ned squeezed her hand. "You need not fear the clans, lassie.”

“I’m not scared of them!” Arya insisted. “I just wanna make sure I’m prepared is all.”

At her words, Sandor snorted from the farthest stall in the barn, causing Ned to laugh softly.

“Well it’s true!” Arya folded her arms.

“Gendry will keep your weapons ready. The clansmen will give you no trouble, and they will respect Clegane once they see his burns. You must trust your mother and me and have faith in Clegane.”

Her eyes searched out her fearsome husband. Sansa marveled at the notable change in her father’s attitude toward Sandor in a relatively short period of time; but, ever the lady, she kept her thoughts to herself.

“We do, Father.” Arya murmured quietly, her eyes fixed on the ground while she drew circles in the dirt with the toe of her shoe.

“Good. Come now, the both of you, I want to see smiles,” Catelyn looked between her daughters. “I am certain you will like the place you are going.” Grudgingly each of them complied with tight grins, even though Sansa felt as though her heart would break from the weight of her grief and she was certain Arya felt the same.

Seemingly sensing his eldest daughter’s distress, Lord Eddard added: “It won’t be long now. We’ll join our armies with Stannis Baratheon and soon this madness will be over. The gods are with us and will keep us safe until we can be together again. You’ll see.”

Sansa and Arya cast furtive glances at each other but both girls nodded obediently. Pleased by their obedience, Lady Catelyn kissed them on each cheek.

“Family, duty, honor,” she repeated before she hastily left the barn.

“You must stay together, help each other, for winter is coming.” Lord Eddard pulled them both into a tight embrace before following his wife’s suit.

Sandor slowly made his way toward Sansa as Eddard stared at them one last time. Tipping his head toward Eddard, he rasped low: “Any other instructions, my lord?”

“No, I have already made my instructions clear, Clegane.” Ned patted Stranger’s flank.

"Aye, Lord Eddard."

“Now away with all of you.”

“Sansa, we have to go now, lass.” Sandor rasped softly, steering her by the waist toward Stranger. Reluctantly she tore her eyes away from the vanishing forms of her parents. “I know you want to visit longer but we must take our leave.”

Sadly, Sansa patted his cheek. “I know, husband. Let us go.”

“You too, Arya. You ride with Gendry just like before, and no horseplay this time, you here?”

Arya shot him a look, causing him to smirk at her knowingly. Rolling her eyes, she then took the reins. “You just worry about your wound and I’ll take care of me and Gendry, okay?”

“Do as I say or I’ll tan your hide.” After glaring at the young girl until she gave her acquiescence, Sandor then carefully lifted Sansa into the saddle and climbed up behind her.

Arya easily assumed her place in front of Gendry and then proceeded to debate with him over who should hold the reins.

“Enough!” Sandor snarled as he settled behind his wife. “Gendry, take the reins. Arya, shut the fuck up and do as I say, will you? We’re leaving now.”

* * *

Numbness settled over Sansa as they made their way through the winding switchbacks of the Riverlands. They had been on the run for so long that by the time they reached Riverrun the young woman had convinced herself that she had grown accustomed to the rough travel; yet after only a few days spent in the castle, she was unwilling to leave her comfortable bed for _another_ road trip.

Sandor, for his part, said very little during the journey, though he rubbed soothing circles over her belly as they travelled. Her silence seemed to worry him, for she could feel the tension in his arms and stomach as she leaned into him. Occasionally Sansa would force herself to attempt conversation by claiming she had seen a deer in the wood just to appease him.

Without fail, Arya would frown and shake her head at Sansa’s absurdity. “There’s no more deer in these woods, stupid! All the soldiers ate them. You’re seeing things.”

Paltry though they were, her efforts did not fool Sandor, but instead of railing at her as he once would have, the man seemed to understand that Sansa was merely making an effort. After every claim, he would whisper in her ear: “Your eyes are as keen as they are pretty, wife. Might be I’ll find you some venison for dinner one night soon.” And just as Sansa's claims of seeing an animal were merely wind, the venison dinner also never materialized.

Sandor never complained about his wound, and soon the ferocious warrior returned to swinging his sword every morning with Gendry. Arya often fretted to Sandor that Sansa’s unusual taciturnity meant she was getting infection in her hand, and so she insisted on tending her wound every time they stopped. Sandor insisted and so Sansa allowed it, for she rarely got to see the nurturing side of her little sister and she appreciated it.

Despite her melancholy, the feel of Sandor’s lips caressing the shell of her ear as he spoke to her brought a pleasurable shiver through her body. Never had Sansa dreamed she would be the recipient of such gentle words and tender touches from the Hound, and yet the longer they were together, the more frequent such intimacies became. Admittedly Sandor made sure that Sansa was the only person to witness them but they pleased Sansa just the same, and she enjoyed the private exchanges between them.

Each morning and evening she prayed silently that the gods would grant them safe passage and that they would help her parents and brothers as well. After two weeks of rough but uneventful travel, the foursome finally made their way into the foothills of the Vale.

“It’s bloody cold up there,” Sandor grumbled as he removed several warm furs from the pack. “You two wrap up tight in those furs and put on the wool stockings and shifts your mother packed for you.”

Hastily Sansa and Arya disappeared behind a tree to change their clothing.

“How much longer, Clegane?” Gendry blew into his chilled hands. "Seems like the weather worsens with each passing step."

Grunting, Sandor shrugged. “We've been lucky. It’ll only be another sennight until we’re there, if the weather stays clear. Keep your sword oiled and your eyes sharp for any signs of the Mountain clans.”

Confused, Gendry asked, “But what of Lord Eddard’s words? He said there would be no problem with them.”

“Yeah and he also thought he could trust Robert,” Sandor shook his head. “Bugger that. I’ve stayed alive because I stay alert. You’d be wise to do the same.”

Gravely Gendry nodded.

Afterward the group made their way deep into the Mountains of the Moon on the high road from the inn at the Crossroads. At times the craggy passages narrowed and steepened to the point that Gendry and Sandor had to lead the horses on foot.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going, Hound?” Arya irritably grumbled while staring at the tall snowcapped mountains surrounding them.

“Aye, your father gave me a map.” Sandor squinted against the howling wind. “Not much further now. Keep your eyes in front of you.”

“This doesn’t seem like a place Father would take us to,” she sniffed, steering the animals away from the precipice just to the right of the trail. “Kinda dangerous and isolated.” Arya looked to Sansa. “Is that the way it looks on the map, you guys?”

Gendry pushed onward. “I’ve not seen this map, Arya. Just do as Clegane says, will you?”

Ignoring him, Arya pressed on. “Sansa, what about it? Is that what it looks like on the map? Gendry hasn't seen it.”

“Nor I, but please, we must trust Sandor as Father bade us,” Sansa weakly answered. She, too, was very curious about their intended destination but the young woman knew full well that if Arya heard the least bit discomfiture out of her sister, outright rebellion would soon follow.

Just before the summit of the fractured glacial horn, the mountain trail curved away and turned inland to a very heavily wooded pine forest. As the weary group came around the corner, they saw that built into the outcropping was a small log and stone keep.

“There it is just as Stark said,” Sandor smiled up at Sansa and sighed deeply. “Your very own keep, Sansa. This will be home for a bit.”

“ _My_ keep?” She replied incredulously. “What do you mean?”

“Jon Arryn gave the lands to your parents as a wedded present. Your father had the keep built for you when you were just a wee lass.”

Agape, Sansa and Arya stared at the imposing structure.

“Why did Father have a keep built for Sansa?” Arya pouted slightly.

“Because of what happened with your Aunt Lyanna. Do you know what happened with Rhaegar?”

Both young women nodded in unison.

His mood suddenly darkened. “She was said to be like you, Arya, hellfire in a skirt and all. She was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen and died before your father got to her. Well, when Sansa was born, Ned determined  that the Stark women would have a place of respite, a place no one else knew about to hide, a keep of your very own.” Turning to Sansa, Sandor added low, “You needed that keep long ago, lass, believe that, and now you both have a place to hide.”

“True enough,” Sansa bit her lip. “But if my Aunt Lysa knows of the place then so will Lord Baelish.”

“Oh, shit, Littlefinger! Remember how he told you the story of Sandor’s burns at the Hand’s tourney?" She pointed at Sansa. "Your eyes were as round as a pair of silver stags. I fucking hate that guy!” Arya spat on the ground.

“Arya, please watch your language.” Sansa glanced sideways at Sandor, whose face twisted into a dark rage as he stared at her. In fact, the last time Sansa saw that look was when Joffrey had her beaten, and not long after he killed Meryn Trant with his bare hands. Trembling slightly, she tried to remain calm. “Mother won’t like it if you return to her swearing like Sandor.”

“Okay, Sissy.” Arya grudgingly muttered.

“He told you how I was burned?” Sandor roared at Arya, though his eyes never left Sansa.

“Yep.” She answered calmly, the girl seemingly nonplussed by his outburst. “How Gregor held your face in the fire for playing with his toy. I kept looking around for Father to notice what a creeper he was being, but he was talking to the king. Afterward Littlefinger said you would kill us if you ever found out we knew. I should have fucking punched that guy.”

Sandor clenched his jaw so hard that Sansa noticed a vein began protruding at his temple. Leaning down, she took his hand carefully. “Let us not speak of him anymore.” Jumping at her touch, Sandor seemed startled out of his rage by her affectionate gesture and so he squeezed her hand gently in return.

She could not help wonder what Sandor would do if Littlefinger showed up but she knew now was not the time to ask.

Seemingly reading her thoughts, Sandor rasped low: “Sansa, your Aunt Lysa doesn’t know about this place. Your father and Jon Arryn kept it from her. So you best believe Littlefucker doesn’t know about it. If he shows up here, I'll flay him like one of those fucking Boltons.”

Nervously Gendry glanced between Sandor and Arya.

“Littlefucker, that’s a good one,” Arya giggled, the young girl seemingly unaffected by Sandor's rough threat. “But, like, how is it even possible that not one person would tell her?”

Gendry reached up and patted her arm. “Enough. Let him be, will you?”

“Your Aunt is touched, Arya,” Sandor answered quietly. “Didn’t anyone in your family tell you and Sansa?”

Arya and Sansa glanced at each other and shook their heads. “No.”

“Aye, and she has a tendency to have epic emotional spells so yeah, no one told her.” Sandor sneered. “The people in King’s Landing made sure she knew very little and they do the same in the Vale. Bloody hells, everyone in the Red Keep knew it. I can’t believe they kept it a secret from you.”

“We were never around her, and people said very little about my father after he was accused of treason.” Sansa offered. “Come now, this conversation can wait. Let us go inside and get out of this frightful weather.” Turning to Sandor, she deftly changed the subject: “The place is very unassuming; it seems to blend right into the landscape. Are there any servants?”

“No, lass, and not many needed here. Just a married couple from House Umber, their two sons and two daughters as well as the maester, all sworn to House Stark. The keep is very small and surrounded by mountain streams on two sides, a great precipice at the other and a gate at the entrance. Your father had his kennelmaster breed wolf hounds to guard the premises. No one will come in to us unannounced, believe that.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Sansa, we can do our own chores, and I'm glad we have dogs!” Arya swung off the horse and hurried toward the entrance of the gate. After banging on the knocker several times, the small portcullis screeched open.  A tall man with a square jaw met them at the entrance of the keep.

“I am Elder brother from the Quiet Isle,” he bowed low before Sansa and Arya. “We received a raven a fortnight ago from Riverrun announcing your arrival.”

“I don’t know you,” Arya eyed him while she fingered Needle's hilt. “What house are you from?”

“The tradition of the Seven forbids me from revealing my name from my former life. However, my lady, I will tell you this: I was recommended to your father by Ser Oswell Whent. Lord Stark brought me here as maester.”

“How long have you served here?” Sandor demanded.

“Seven years.”

Sansa saw her husband’s demeanor relax at the holy man’s response. Quickly his eyes then fell on Sansa’s hand. “Come, my lady, let me tend your wounds at once.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sandor stepped inside the spacious maester’s quarters ahead of the others, the man studying the room carefully before he led Sansa and Arya inside. The room itself was clean and spartan, with an apothecary closet stocked with neatly arranged jars in the far corner. A large library of books lined the granite walls.

Awestruck, Gendry stared up at them while Arya urged him to follow closely behind Sandor.

“Never saw so many books in my life.” The young man whistled low. “You read them all?”

“I have.” Elder brother nodded with a gentle smile.

“Can _you_ read?” Arya cocked her eyebrow at Gendry.

“I can read my name,” Gendry shrugged. “Other than that, what else do I need to read?”

“In this life there may come a time when you needs read many things, boy. If you would like to learn I’m sure the Elder brother would teach you.” Sandor rasped low, to which Gendry eagerly nodded.

“My lord, you and the young man may sit in the solar while I treat your wife, if it pleases you.” Elder brother offered. “There you will find wine and fruit for your refreshment.”

“Bugger that. It doesn’t please me. I’ll not leave her until you’re finished.” Sandor muttered low, the man tensely holding on to Sansa’s hand while Elder brother unwrapped the bandaging.

“As you wish, my lord.” Overlooking Sandor’s brusque ways, the holy smiled genially at the couple. “I’m most pleased to see how well you treat your bride, Lord Clegane. You honor the gods in doing so. Unfortunately such is becoming less and less common.”

Clenching his jaw, Sandor said nothing to that, only stared intently at Sansa’s laceration. Nudging him, Arya snickered and then complained: “Hound, I can’t see. Move, will you?”

“Bugger off.”

“Sandor, Arya, please let the Elder brother alone to his work.” Sansa chided lightly while casting and apologetic glance at the holy man. “How does it look?”

“So far, very well.” Elder brother patiently worked around the hovering pair as he studied Sansa wounds. “You can sit down, Lady Arya, if you would be more comfortable.” His gentle manner and calm, reassuring voice remained constant, something that the trio immediately took note. “You can see everything from there.”

“No, I wanta watch you up close,” Arya traced her toe on the granite floor. “I can help, you know. Our old Maester Luwin used to let me help him all the time. He taught me all about keeping the wound clean, boiling his tools to keep ‘em clean, how to give milk of the poppy and sweetsleep, and also how to stitch up cuts.”

“Well, in that case, I would be happy to have your help, my lady,” he gestured for her to come by his side. “You have far more experience than many first year maesters, Lady Arya.”

Grinning, Arya excitedly patted her foot. “That so?”

He nodded again, his eyes twinkling as he regarded her. “Would you throw these old bandages in the fire for me? And bring over the bag of herbs hanging on the mantle.”

“Okay.”

“Why, these wounds are healing very nicely, my lady. Lady Arya did an excellent job tending them.” Elder brother nodded approvingly. “And the stitches are exceptional.”

Arya smiled broadly at his praise. “I sewed it up for her. I did the Hound’s, too.”

“You are wounded, my lord?” Frowning, the elder man turned to Sandor.

“Aye, but the wolf girl sewed me up.” Sandor shrugged his shoulder, wincing as he did so. “I was caught by a blade just before we came up here. Might be you should check it out.”

“It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

After much poking and prodding, the Elder brother found Sandor’s wounds similarly tended well. Attentively the holy man took his time cleaning and redressing their wounds, and then he took them for a tour of the keep.

With his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Sandor stalked the halls in front of the group as though he expected an intruder, testing the sturdiness of the doors and their hinges, studying the points of entry and inquiring about the general safety of each room.

He answered Sandor’s questions quickly and efficiently, his general knowledge suggesting that he spent some time as a swordsman before he found his calling with the Seven. Afterward, the Elder brother led them to kitchens, servants quarters, the kennels and stables, which delighted both Arya and Sandor with the animals found there.

Gendry stayed in the small forge speaking at length with the smithy.

“Worked for the master armorer in King’s Landing, I did,” Gendry smiled at the man. “I can start tomorrow, if you like.”

“Aye, you’re most welcome, milord, but it hardly proper, you work‘in fer me.”

Sansa walked over to the smithy, who at once bowed low to her. “What is your name?”

“Mads at your service, milady.”

“I am Sansa Stark. Glad to meet you.” she smiled at the man. “This is my husband Sandor Clegane and my sister, Arya. If you wish for Gendry to work with you and he is willing, then Mads, you are more than welcome to him.”

Delightedly the man turned to Gendry, who then sputtered out, “Thank you, Sansa-I mean, Lady Stark-“

“I would be very happy for you to call me Sansa.” Sadly Sansa raised her hand. “Lady Stark is our mother.”

Arya nodded.

“Thank you, Sansa.” Gendry answered softly.

“Yes, thank ye, milady.”

“You’re very welcome,” she smiled once more and then returned to her husband.

“The structure was built out of granite with wood accents, overlooking the Giant’s Lance, situated to give your family a breathtaking view that dominates the resident rooms inside of the keep.” Elder brother’s voice came into earshot, the man assuring Sandor as he finished inspecting the outer walls.

“Indeed; magnificent,” Sandor rasped, moved by her side and then taking Sansa by the arm. He turned to her. “Are you cold?”

“Yes, it is going to snow, I think.”

“You seem well stocked and ready for us.” Sandor commented as the group moved inside toward the family rooms.

“Yes, Lord Stark announced your arrival. Everything you need is here, my lord.”

“How many men at arms?” Sandor eyed the windows carefully, running his hands along the inlaid wood.

“Fifty.”

Sandor turned sharply, his eyes narrowing.

“I was once a knight in my former life, my lord, so believe me when I say that I understand your trepidation.” Elder brother drew a deep breath, waiting for Sandor’s response.

“What in the Seven-“ Arya shouted before Gendry quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. “Did I hear you right? Only fifty?”

“Arya, please, let Clegane handle this, will you?” He quietly asked as he slowly turned loose of her.

“Quit doing that!” She jerked away from Gendry and stood beside Sandor, mirroring his stance while facing Elder brother.

“Well, then, don’t swear in front of the elder man then,” Gendry shook his head, casting an exasperated look at Sansa.

Turning away, Sandor slammed his hand against a wooden beam, but still he remained silent.

“My lord, allow me to explain the tactical advantages of the keep.”

As the Elder brother spoke, Sansa rested her hands around his waist, squeezing him lightly. Sandor allowed her ministrations, and in turn patted her hands with his own soothingly.

Sandor finally spoke. “No other keep has so little protection.”

“The Eyrie does, my love.” Sansa softly answered.

Stunned, Sandor stared at her with a frown. “The Eyrie? Truly?”

“Yes, it has very little in the way of men at arms or any other outside fortifications. Nature provides all the security the Arryn’s could ever need.” Sansa paused as he digested the information.

“How do you know this?” Sandor tipped her face up to him. “I never head such in the Red Keep.”

“Learning the major houses of Westeros and the details of their castles and important battles is part of highborn education, Sandor.” Sansa covered his large hand with her own. “I learned that in my lessons with Maester Luwin.”

Sandor only grunted his reply while Arya emphatically nodded.  “Me, too.”

“Ydra ji Valyre?” Elder brother smiled at her.

“Yes, I speak some conversational Valyrian,” Sansa smiled. “It’s been a long time since I heard it; perhaps I can resume my lessons as well.”

Elder brother bowed. “I will gladly assist you, my lady.”

“In the Age of Heroes, a dozen armies smashed themselves against the Bloody Gate to no avail.” Sansa commented as she took in the view from the room.

“Yes, my lady, that is true, and it is for the very same reason this one is staffed so. The only way into the keep is by through the entry you came by. As you must have noticed, it is mostly hidden by trees and shrubs, with a heavy portcullis, guards and watch dogs. The rest of the keep is carved out of the mountain itself. Here, look at the view.”

Elder brother smiled at Sansa’s excited expression as they took in the expanse of the Giant’s Lance outside the window of her and Sandor’s quarters.

“Everything was designed to make the keep blend into its surroundings, both inside and out.”

“It certainly was, and what an outstanding effect!”  She clasped her hands together. “Sandor, isn’t it lovely?” Silvery granite walls surrounded them and then sharply dropped off, giving the illusion of the keep suspended in the air.

“Makes it seem like you are already outside, like you’re standing on the edge of the world,” Sandor rasped low, the man unable to decide whether he liked the floor to ceiling windows. It was dizzying, almost, but also gave them the advantage of seeing the sunrise every morning. Heavy snowflakes began to drift down, blanketing their view in a cover of white.

When Sansa drew closer to him beside the window, she held out her hands. “Sandor, isn’t it beautiful?” Sansa leaned into him and squeezed his arm excitedly once more. “It’s almost like you can touch the snowflakes!”

Sandor’s deep grey eyes scanned the area carefully before his heated gaze turned to her. “Beautiful, aye,” he murmured as he reached out and stroked her cheek.

It had been a long while since they were intimate, and Sandor’s overt advances made her suddenly, inexplicably shy. Blushingly Sansa lowered her eyes and then peeked to see if Elder brother had overheard the exchange, and was relieved to see the man was gazing out the window, seemingly oblivious to them.

“It’s been so long since we saw snow!” Arya bounced excitedly on her heels. “And we can see it all from inside. It feels like home already!”

“Your rooms have similar views and appointments, Lady Arya, as do yours, Gendry. Follow me, please.” Elder brother led the pair out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Sandor watched Sansa step closer still to the windows, staring out at the vastness of the Mountains of the Moon as the sun dipped low in the sky. She did not speak, but he sensed a deep sadness in his wife. Silently he moved behind her and then wrapped his arms around her waist. “What troubles you, wife?”

“It was just so nice being free, you know, free to travel, free to go wherever we pleased, and now-“ Dejectedly she bit her lip.

“Now what?” Puzzled, Sandor tipped her face up to his.

 “And now I wonder if I have traded one gilded cage for another.” Turning toward him, Sansa clutched his tunic. “Don’t get me wrong, it is very beautiful here, but just the idea of the necessity of staying hidden worries me.”

Sandor regarded her for a while, his eyes softening as he did so. “You can come and go here, wife. No one will see you. I’ll be by your side. It won’t be anything like the Red Keep.”

Pacing, Sansa wrung her hands. “If only I could be certain that Petyr Baelish won’t find us here. My aunt is unwell and has always been unnaturally attached to the man, my mother told me…what is to keep her from finding us and telling him of our location?“

“You leave Littlefucker to me,” Sandor snarled low. “You’ve spent enough time trying to outwit those bastards in King’s Landing. He comes here and he is as good as dead. No one will hurt you again or I’ll kill them, remember?”

Turning to face him, Sansa pressed herself into his embrace. “I know, Sandor. It’s just that being afraid has become second nature, especially where the Lannisters and their people are concerned.”

“I know,” he seethed, though he kept his voice even. “But I _will_ keep you safe. I’ll keep saying it, Sansa-“

“Until I feel it.” Sansa finished for him and then kissed him soundly.

“Bloody well right I will.” Sandor rasped into her ear.

“Come, let us rest for a bit,” Sansa beckoned to him. “It’s been a long time since it was just the two of us.”

Sandor at once recognized the naughty twinkle in her eye. Easily he scooped his little wife up into his arms and carried her to the bed.


	17. Chapter 17

While Sansa spent her days studying Valyrian and taking care of the day to day needs of the people, Sandor used his time inspecting every aspect of their new home. Despite the reassurances of the Elder Brother and the men at arms, her husband not only remained unimpressed by the defense strategies of the keep but had taken to searching out flaws, much to the distress of the people who served them.

At the very least, the people were leery of the former Lannister Hound, and at most, were downright afraid of him. Wearing all black, Sandor stalked the halls with a dangerous air, scowling at everyone except Sansa. It was both exciting and worrisome for Sansa, because she knew that in order for their household to run efficiently, it was important that the servants view him as their lord and not as the fearsome former sworn shield of their enemy.

“What is he doing now?” Arya asked Sansa as she and Gendry made their way to their lessons with the Elder Brother.

Turning, Sansa saw Sandor vigorously testing out the portcullis.

“He’s just trying to make sure we’re safe here, that’s all.” She uneasily clutched her textbook to her chest. It had been three moons since they arrived, and despite several long periods of inclement weather, Sandor had managed to find fault with the keep’s defenses nearly every week and devilling the men.

Elder Brother stepped out into the courtyard. Immediately his attention was drawn to Sandor shouting swear words at the men on duty.

“He’s being crazy, Sansa,” Arya shook her head. “You need to talk to that man of yours. Elder brother, help us.”

“What should I say to him?” Sansa asked, genuinely curious. She was absolutely at a loss as to how to help reassure her husband; not for the first time, Sansa wished her mother and father were there to advise her.

"Tell him to calm down!"

“You know as well as I do that just saying: ’Sandor, don’t worry about our safety, just relax’ will only aggravate the situation. You know how particular he is in such matters. There’s nothing I could say that would stop him, Arya.”

“Milady, if I may offer a suggestion?” Gendry lowered his eyes before speaking. The sound of his voice startled both Sansa and Arya, for the young man generally held his tongue around her.

“Yes, Gendry?”

“Clegane, well, he’s lived as a man of action his entire life. He’s trained with the best soldiers in Westeros. He’s the most dangerous man in the Seven Kingdoms, second only to Gregor. I doubt a week’s past that he hasn’t known some sort of fighting, battle, plannings and the like since he was a boy. He’s anxious for something to do.”

“Gendry speaks truly. I was once a knight,” Elder Brother offered, his words at once drawing Arya’s curiosity. “To be a soldier requires a certain level of training that one becomes accustomed to. Mayhap your lord husband feels a bit, well, idle, staying with us inside the confines of the keep rather that cutting through your father’s enemies with the Stark host.”

“I believe you are right, Elder brother, Gendry. Thank you both,” Sansa rubbed her hands together thoughtfully as she smiled at the men. Sandor had told her he killed his first man at twelve, and that he squired for Ser Amory Lorch as the sack of King’s Landing progressed.

In the Red Keep, he had Joffrey to watch, and by extension, her. Even around the keep, he followed her as though he were still her body guard. She knew how deeply her husband’s concerns ran; in truth it had very little to do with the actual security of the structure, but she kept that to herself.

 _He needs something that will make him feel as needed as he once did; he needs to feel as though he is doing his part._ Biting her lip, Sansa added quietly: “I’ll see what I can do to help him. Thank you, Gendry.”

“You’re quite welcome, milady,” Gendry dipped his head at her before urging Arya onward.

Once inside, Elder brother placed a scroll in her hand. “We received a raven this morning, my lady.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sansa traced her finger over the seal with care. “It could not have come at a better time.”

He smiled and then quietly left her to the letter. Quickly she read the information within, a small smile playing on her mouth as she did so. No one pressed her to divulge its contents, and she did not offer. When she finished her lesson, Sandor was leaning against the wall outside the maester’s quarters, waiting for her.

“Wife,” he lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed it and then looped in through his arm. “How were your lessons?”

“Good,” she smiled up at him anxiously. “How was training?”

His knuckles were purple and blooming. “Good enough.”

“Sandor, let us walk together for a bit and have a talk.” When he hesitated, Sansa beckoned to him.

“Aye, we'll talk,” Sandor suspiciously raised his eyebrow at her. “What is this about?”

She took his hands in her own. “I have long wanted you to feel you belong here, that this is as much your keep as it is mine."

Sandor rolled his eyes before laughing long and hard, the frightening sound echoing in the yard. She could feel the anger rolling off of him in waves as he leaned in close to her ear.

“You’re a sweet little bird for true, wife, but we both know your lord father doesn’t see it that way.”

“It matters not,” Sansa squeezed his hands, willing him to feel her sincerity. “This is our home, yours and mine. He gave it to me and in turn, I wish it to belong to you.”

“As you say.” He sniffed, the man clearly doubtful.

“Sandor, please, if you are not happy here, do not hesitate to make any changes you see fit. And if you are unhappy here, we will leave.”

“Quit chirping.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his face unreadable. "Are you giving me permission to take you away from here?"

“No, of course not. You do not need my permission,” Sansa kissed his hands. “I just want you to understand that I do not expect you to look at me as the lady of the keep. You are my equal and we will oversee it together. And if that is not what you want, my place is with you. I will follow you wherever you go.”

“We cannot go anywhere, wife; you know that as well as I do.” Sandor sighed deeply and uneasily ran his hands down the front of his breeches. Nymeria lumbered up and rested her huge head on his knee. Sandor began scratching her under her chin as he brooded silently.

Briefly Sansa wondered if he ever regretted marrying her, considering the burden he took on in doing so. He could have just as easily married a pretty maiden with modest connections and lived a peaceful life. Knowing Sandor, he would rather be fighting on the field with her father and Robb and Stannis. But thanks to her and Arya, the ferocious Hound was stuck in a mountain keep at the top of the world with only her, a bastard blacksmith, a holy man and a feisty tomboy for company.

“Do you regret not going with the host?” Sansa could not help but ask.

Quickly his demeanor darkened. “How can you even ask me that, Little bird?”

“I know you are unhappy here,” Sansa fidgeted with her handkerchief. “I know you to be a man of war ever since you were a boy. I-I thought you might rather be fighting instead of milling about this keep with me. I do not want to make you unhappy.”

“I am many things, Sansa; you knew that when you bedded me. But I am not unhappy.” Sandor picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her cloak so he could avoid her gaze. "You are the last person who would make me such."

“How do you see yourself, then?” Sansa asked carefully, the young woman realizing she was treading dangerous ground.

He paused. “What does it matter? I'm a  soldier, a seasoned warrior, a highly valued butcher, if you will. But foremost I am your husband, lass.” Sandor struggled to still his anger as he cupped her face in his hands. “You are mine, Little bird; that makes me happy. You are all I need in the gods-forsaken life.”

Unable to hide her smile, Sansa beamed up at him.

Clearing his throat, Sandor added: “I didn’t go through the trouble of taking a wife to spend my nights alone. Even if you lord father had asked me to go with them, I would have insisted you accompany me.”

Stunned by his admission, Sansa shook her head. “But only the lower born wives and…other sorts of women go with the train.”

Glaring, Sandor rasped low. “You would refuse to go with me?”

“No, I-I would go with you of course,” Sansa wrung her hands, “but it would not be appropriate for the sister of the king to travel with-” her words trailed off.

“Camp followers?” He snorted. “Aye, they are the only females who travel with the men. Scared of them, are you?” Sandor pinched her chin so Sansa could not look away.

“No.” She shook her head. “I am a wolf.”

“That you are,” Sandor chuckled in spite of himself. “But nevertheless, you should fear them, lass. Desperation follows soldier trains and make no mistake. Men who like to beat little girls, men who like to rape them and women who’ll gladly hand them over for coin. Any one of those would do you a harm for the promise of a stag, believe that.”

Her face fell, for Sansa had never considered that there were dangers for her among her brother’s own men.

“Hear my words and remember them true: you are my wife and I’ll not be separated from you." Sandor ran two fingers through a lock of her hair. "I’ll entrust you to no one but myself, and I’ll not fight while you’re hidden away in some keep at the mercy of whatever buggering bastards reside within. Understand?”

 _He means to reassure me_. Smiling, she lowered her eyes from his. “I think I do, Sandor.” Lightly she turned and kissed his cheek. “Then we will stay here. You will be the lord of this keep.”

“Stannis has not offered such and neither has your father. Besides, I have no use for flowery titles, girl.” Sandor narrowed his eyes. “Who put such nonsense in your head?”

“Stannis Baratheon.” Sansa produced the rolled scroll and handed it to him.

Gritting his teeth, Sandor refrained from opening it. “The place is no less mine because you are the lady of the keep. I needs no titles, wife.” He was staring at her so intently that Sansa had to force herself not to look away from him. “Being your husband is enough to suit me.”

“It is not a title given by men whom you despise,” Sansa leaned up and caressed his face.

“I have no love for Stannis, believe that-“

“It is from me.” Sansa’s eyes welled up. “Please do not be angry with me. I requested it from my father before we left, as a gift to you.”

“What it bloody hells?“ Sandor gripped his head with both hands, drawing them back through the length of his hair. “What do I have to say to get through to you, girl? I spit on knights and their vows-“

“Please, Sandor calm yourself,” Sansa rested her hands on his massive shoulders. “He will not make you a knight. It is a lordship of this keep that he offers at the behest of my father.”

“Sansa for fuck’s sake, why would you think I would even want such a thing?” Sandor’s face flushed red and his breathing labored. “Who did your father have to soft soap to get it?”

“The very man to whom he bends the knee. Sandor, it is for us. It is to show everyone that you are no longer a Lannister man. It is an open proclamation that you are a recognized, honored member of House Stark in the eyes of both Stannis Baratheon and House Stark.” Sansa’s tears flowed freely then. She had to make him understand.

“That doesn’t mean shite to me,” he hissed. “You highborns and your buggering airs-“

Lightly she held her fingers to his mouth. “It announces to the whole of Westeros that you are my family. Death could separate us, Sandor, but you will be forever recognized as part of House Stark if you accept.”

Paling, he pulled her tightly against him. Turning her wrist, Sandor surprised her by kissing her palm, though his eyes flashed when he met her gaze. 

“You have always taken pride in protecting me, caring for me, keeping me safe.” Sansa spoke soothingly and brushed her hands through his hair. “The title acknowledges that, nothing more.”

“Fuck that nonsense, lass.” Sandor averted his eyes. “A title doesn’t make a man a good protector.”

“Sandor, no one knows better than I how empty such titles can be, especially after my time in the Red Keep,” Sansa took his hands in her own once more. “But doesn’t receiving a title for caring for me and Arya make for a very different circumstance than what was given to you in King’s Landing?”

She watched him take a long moment to consider.

“Aye, it does at that.” Sandor finally assented, the man rising abruptly and pacing as he did so. “Have it your way, Little bird; I’ll take the bloody lordship but only if it comes from you, wife, you and no other. I swear no vows to anyone but you, you hear me?”

“I know, my love,” she said quietly, all the while wondering what Stannis would say to that. “And I would wish it with all my heart but such titles are not mine to give.” She took the scroll from his hand and pointed to the carefully stamped seal featuring a red heart of the Lord of Light with the stag of House Baratheon in the middle.

_“I, Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, as part of his acceptance of the fealty of Lord Eddard Stark and his son, Robb Stark, he being the former King in the North, hereby reinstate the former as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North._

_I gift to his eldest daughter the keep bequeathed to her by Jon Arryn at the time of her father’s marriage to Catelyn Tully._

_Her husband, Sandor Clegane, in exchange for renouncing his vows to House Lannister and for his deeds of bravery at Riverrun in service to Lord Eddard Stark and Ser Bryndan Tully, is now named Lord Clegane of said keep, to be named by the couple at their earliest leisure.”_

After reading it aloud, Sandor’s mouth twitched for several moments. He patted her hand.

“Is this what you want?” His steely gaze searched her own.

“Yes, it is.” Sansa shyly looked up at him.

“It seems your brother and father have reached them safe enough.” Sandor paused once more. “Alright, wife, I’ll agree to this. But as for the rest of the bloody lords, let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers. So long as I have this,” he patted the hilt of his sword, “there’s no man on earth I need fear. And my wedded vows are the only I will ever take. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sandor.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down so as to hide her smile.

“There is nothing I won’t do to keep you safe, you and your sister, believe that,” Sandor held her face tightly. “I’ll use that title to do such, lass.” Grunting, he gave her a quick kiss. “Let’s tell your sister that the family reached Stannis safely.”

“What should we call the keep?” Sansa asked her husband.

Sandor shrugged. “The Wolf Keep.”

The name brought a smile to her lips. “The Wolf Keep it is.”

* * *

Despite the lordship and the efforts of the men at arms to reassure Sandor, he still would not take his ease, much to Sansa's distress. As the newly installed Lord of The Wolf Keep, he would patrol with the watchmen and check all the doors and windows personally before he would retire for the night. Sandor not only took it upon himself to order added defensive measures installed to the outer walls but personally trained the complement of soldiers, drilling them with a ferocity that soon became a spectacle among the people.

Unless the weather interfered, Sandor rarely miss a day of training in the yard with the men.  Sansa had hoped he would learn to relax, and once the keep’s defenses met his approval, eventually Sandor did.  Occasionally he would allow himself a day to lounge in bed with her, stroking her skin, brushing her hair. He would send her maid away, draw her bath himself and then carefully bathe her and wash her hair as though she were a child.

Her wedded life revealed Sandor Clegane to be far more than the Hound that he showed the world, far more than the exacting Lord of The Wolf Keep. He was an unusual blend of gentleness and raw masculine strength, and while the realm saw the latter side of the man, the former was the one part of him that only she was allowed to see. His intense vulnerability in caring for her most basic needs touched Sansa far more deeply than any flowery words or speeches from him ever could.

After a while, Sansa understood that these demonstrations were Sandor’s way of telling her that he loved and cherished her. It was the same with his efforts to secure the keep, for actions had always meant more to him than words. One day, as he lay in her arms, spent after such attentions led to an especially tender lovemaking session, he had let slip that his sister had taken care of him in such ways when he was burned. It was in this way that Sansa discerned that actions were the only way he knew how to express his emotions, for words often failed her stoic mate.

As dawn ascended, Sandor sent her maid away and then massaged every inch of her chilled body. After they bathed, he conscientiously helped her dress and then brushed out her hair in long, deliberate strokes. Having Sandor care for her was so very different than when the maids attended her. His attentions both touched, embarrassed and flattered her in equal measure and she happily submitted to his ministrations.

“Would you accompany me to the training yard today?” Sandor gruffly asked as we watched her wrap her robe. This was the first time he had ever asked it of her.

“Do you want me to?” Sansa nervously wrung her hands, for she could see in his eyes that she had offended him but was at a loss to know how it had come to that. In truth she never dreamed he wanted her to watch him with the men at arms. In King’s Landing, he had scolded her for going to the training yard unaccompanied with Arya and Jeyne.

“I thought you needed no invitation, but you never come on your own.” Sandor’s eyes settled on her own.

“I would love to watch you, husband,” Sansa turned her chin up at him with a mischievous grin. “I have not come as of yet because you used to tell me in King’s Landing that it would lead to trouble. I wasn’t sure if you felt safe enough here for me to do so.”

“This may not be as secure a place as I would wish for you, but bloody hells, it isn’t King’s Landing, lass.” Sandor snorted, folding his arms as he glared at her.

“What do you wish for me? A host of dragons to guard me?” She giggled and twisted the end of her hair at him.

“You’ll never be safer than you are with me,” Sandor gripped her chin, “or have you lost your faith in me?”

“Of course not,” Sansa took his hands in her own. “I was only teasing. Forgive me, I meant no offense.” Confused by his abruptness, she watched him closely.

Sandor’s gaze gleamed with a blend of anger and mischief, and so she added: “You must admit, husband, that it is almost entirely your own doing that I have not come to watch you train. After all, the pleasurable manner in which you start my days gives me very little incentive to leave the comforts of our chambers.”

Her toes involuntarily curled at the memory of their last encounter, during which he had brought her such pleasure that Arya later scolded her for shouting loud enough for the whole keep to hear her. Sansa had been so mortified that she was loathe to leave their rooms for days after, despite the fact that no one besides Arya mentioned it.

The movement drew his eyes to her bare feet. Kneeling, he began massaging her soles. Blushingly Sansa reached out to play with the strings on his tunic. She felt his rough index finger tip her face up to his, and meeting his intense gaze brought a fresh wave of heat to her cheeks.

Barking out his rasping laugh at her response to him, the last vestiges of Sandor’s anger dissipated as he lowered his eyes to hers. “True enough, that. You should know well enough by now, Little Bird, that I enjoy you in my bed more than anything in this world. Believe me, even if you choose not to go, knowing you are waiting here naked and wet and willing for me gets my blood boiling hotter than wildfire, lass.”

Sandor nibbled lightly on her each of her toes and then raised up on his forearms and pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. “Today I needs you to come.”

“Of course. I would love to watch you,” Sansa patted his cheek. “Let me get the fox cloak you made for me.”

“I will get it,” Sandor growled into her ear, then disappeared into her closet. After several minutes and a litany of swears, he held out the garment. “Take care, wife. You mustn’t get chilled.”

“Sandor, I am as much a part of the north as the snow. I have the blood of the First Men. I can take chiller weather than you can, I dare say.”

“Might be, could be.” His mouth curled into a smile. “A proper wolf you are.”

Sandor had a way of looking at her that made Sansa feel as though he could see straight through her clothing. Emboldened, she reached up to his neckline and ran her fingers through the coarse black hair peeking through the lacings. “Do not fret; I will warm you up in a way that has proven very popular in the past.” Unable to stop herself, Sansa blushed at her own daring.

As Sansa and Sandor entered the stands, they saw Arya and Gendry sparring with blunted swords.

Sandor installed her in between his legs on the bench in front of him so that she was veritably surrounded by him. The warmth from his body radiated through his leather pants and suede tunic.

“Strike harder, wolf bitch,” Sandor yelled at her.  Gendry dipped his sword, providing her with an opening.

“Harder now!” Sandor jumped to his feet. “Get in there!”

With renewed determination, Arya struck several blows at Gendry, all of which he easily deflected.

“You’re quick enough but you need to build strength, girl,” Sandor grinned at her. “Bravery will only take you so far in a fight. You need to set about lifting heavier things.” He nodded over toward the feed bags in the stables. “I’ll fill some lighter for you to lift. Do that every day and in a moon’s turn you’ll give us all a licking we won’t soon forget.”

“But I don’t need to be muscled like a boy for water dancing.”

Secretly pleased with his praise, Arya turned toward Sandor and then hissed as she buckled under another relatively light blow from Gendry.

“Think so, huh? Never turn your back on your opponent, lass. And always stay on your feet. The man who falls is the man who dies.”

“But we are not men,” Arya growled and jabbed Gendry solidly in the ribs, bringing the young man to his knees. “Are we, Sansa?”

“No, we are not,” Sansa couldn’t help but giggle at the startled expression on Gendry’s face.

Quickly he pivoted onto his side and knocked Arya off her feet.

“She shouldn’t train with Gendry,” Sansa softly commented as her eyes travelled over the young blacksmith’s muscular chest and arms. “He’s very big and powerfully built from blacksmithing.”

Scowling, Sandor squinted at her, the corner of his mouth twitching ominously as he did so. “You’d be noticing _that_ of all things, Little Bird?”

 _He’s jealous_ , Sansa realized, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the idea. Hurriedly she slipped her hand into his own. “You’ve mistake my meaning, Sandor. What I meant to say is that he is not an experienced enough swordsman to know how to temper his strength as you do when training with Arya, my love.”

Sandor’s face softened slightly.

”In his inexperience, he might accidentally hurt her.” Sansa knitted her brows and squeezed his massive bicep with both hands.

“Aye,” Sandor rubbed his chin. “You speak truly. Arya,” he waved toward her. “Come sit with your sister.”

Pouting, she frowned at him. “But-“

“Do as I say now and don’t give me any lip, either, or I’ll let him crack open your head for true,” Sandor snarled at her.

“Sandor, please.” Sansa reprimanded softly.

“Now go on up there and watch with your sister,” Sandor tempered his tone with great effort. “I’ll show you how it’s done, girl.” As he passed Arya in the stands, he added: “There may come a time again where I needs you to fight beside me as an equal. I’m going to train you right. Keep your eyes on me now.”

“Yes, Hound,” Arya smiled at him, pride written plainly on her face. Sandor pulled a lock of her hair when she turned her back to him to sit beside Sansa.

“Must you do that?” Sansa shook her head at him.

“Aye, and this, too,” He kissed her softly, then climbed down the stands two steps at a time and hastily pulled off his shirt.

Gasping, Sansa blushed deeply at the sight of his heavily muscled physique suddenly on display.

Gendry followed Sandor’s example and pulled off his own tunic, revealing a well-developed chest covered in thick black hair more plentiful than what covered Sandor’s substantially larger build.

“Oh gross!” Arya rolled her eyes. “You guys look like two bears fighting, there’s so much fur.”

“One day you might not mind it,” Sansa said absently as her eyes continued to travel the line of hair that traversed his rippled abdomen and then disappeared beneath Sandor’s lacings.

Several of the washerwomen had come out into the yard. Sansa could hear them murmuring approvingly and giggling behind her, much to her indignation. A hot wave of jealousy washed over her. Angrily she cast her gaze over toward them, but as they were intent on watching the sport of the spectacle, they paid her no mind.

Her face flushing hotly, she turned back toward the baily, where she saw Sandor was watching her with a wicked grin. Smirking, he arched his back and flexed his pectorals in a languid stretch while eying her closely.

Her husband was equal parts ferocious warrior and yet he moved with the agility of a dancer. Sandor easily swiveled out of Gendry’s sword stroke and then circled around him like a shadow cat. Tossing his head, Sandor’s black hair fell lank against his bare skin, damply clinging to his face and shoulders. Daily training without a shirt left his skin tanned. The sweat glistening on his chest ever so slowly trickled downward, following the line of fine black hair covering his rippled abdomen. A heated flush rose to her cheeks, but still Sansa did not turn away.

Swallowing hard, she allowed her eyes to follow the line of hair from Sandor’s chiseled stomach to the thickly roped groin muscles at his hips, which bared with each turn. His narrow waist was accentuated by well-fitting, low slung black leather breeches that clung provocatively to his hips. Every now and then he would glance her direction, the man clearly enjoying the sight of her admiring him. Mercilessly he beat down Gendry until the boy shouted: “Yield, milord!”

“Don’t hurt him, Hound!” Arya shouted beside her, breaking Sansa’s reverie.

“I’m not hurt,” Gendry hissed out.

“No, but you will be later,” Sandor laughed, his eyes never leaving Sansa. “That’ll teach you to pummel the wolf bitch. Now mind your strength or I’ll whip you for true.” Without waiting for a reply, he climbed back toward her. One glance below his navel plainly showed that Sandor was very aroused.

Tossing her over his shoulder, the huge man swatted her playfully on the backside. “Come on wife. I needs tending.”

Rather than cooling his ardor, the harder Sandor trained, the more he desired her, and Sansa eagerly indulged him. She should have suspected he had ulterior motives for bringing her with him.

Blushingly she struggled to get away but to no avail. “Sandor, not in front of everyone, please-“

“Why do you think I brought you here, wife?” Sandor laughed at her pitiful wriggling. “I get my workout, then you get yours.”

Equally embarrassed and aroused, Sansa could not help giggling at his words. 

“Oh yuck!” Sansa heard Arya shout behind them as Sandor kicked the door to their chambers open and laid her on the bed.

“Come wife, your lord husband needs you.” He growled at her, the sound bringing shivers of delight to Sansa as Sandor crawled into her waiting arms.

A sudden knock interrupted them. 

"My Lord Clegane, a raven just arrived," Elder brother's voice echoed through the door. "You needs come at once."


	18. Chapter 18

“Get away from the bloody door!” Sandor snarled as he expertly unlaced Sansa’s simple gown. The harshness of his tone stood in stark contrast to the gentleness with which he eased the delicate garments off of her body, causing Sansa to giggle nervously at his touch.

Wriggling her arms out of her gown, she tossed the frock toward the foot of the bed. Her cheeks and neck were flushed a charming shade of pink, and her nipples hardened in the coolness of the room, the sight sending a hot wave of lust through Sandor as he knelt before her.

“My lord, I do believe you will want to see this now-“ Elder Brother called through the door. “You must come at once.”

“And come you shall.” Sansa nibbled on his ear and then reached to unlace his leather breeches. The sound of such uncharacteristically naughty words spoken from her perfect ladylike mouth almost caused Sandor to spill his seed then and there.

“As will you,” he growled against her breast, resting his face there while she finished untying his lacings. Hurriedly he kicked them off and settled her back on the bed.

“My lord, please-“

“Whatever it is can hold for a bit.” Sandor groaned as her fingers brushed against his hardened manhood, the sight of his aroused state drawing a sharp gasp from his wife.

Grasping him, Sansa smoothed the wetness of his desire over the head and began to move her hands over his shaft in long, even strokes. Hastily Sandor climbed under the sheets next to Sansa, who wiggled over to make room for him.

Trapping her beneath him, Sandor descended upon her hungrily, greedily suckling her full breasts, which heaved with excitement. Caressing her face so she would meet his gaze, Sandor saw that Sansa’s eyes shone bright with desire for him. She wrapped her arms around him and Sandor eagerly clung to her. Gently he took her breast in his hand and brushed her nipple with his thumb, the man willing himself to gain control of his passions lest he get too carried away.

Moaning softly, she arched her back to him. “Please, I’m ready…” she gasped out.

Blood rushed from every part of his body to his loins so quickly that Sandor felt lightheaded. Pushing her knees up to her shoulders, he then used his other hand to position himself at her entrance.

“Hmm, you’re so wet for me,” Sandor moaned appreciatively in her ear after drawing the head of his manhood over the length of her slit. “You liked watching me fight, didn’t you?”

“Oh, Sandor, yes,” she arched her back to meet him, trying to draw him back to her. “Watching you fight was so very…exciting. Make haste, I beg you.”

“If bringing you to the training yard gets you this hot and wet and begging for my cock, I’ll just have to have you accompany me every day.” Sandor said before taking her nipple into his mouth and thrusting into her velvet heat.

”Yes, please-” Sansa moaned out as she smoothed her hands down his back and over his buttocks, pressing him there and fully sheathing his manhood inside her.

“Oh fuck, you feel good!” He arched his back and hissed through gritted teeth. Sansa ran her tongue along his pulse point, drawing a low moan from him.

“My lord, you and Lady Sansa must come at once.-“ Elder brother’s voice came through the door.

Beneath him Sansa giggled as she suckled on his neck. She then wrapped her legs around his waist and grasped his shoulders for purchase. Her little nails dug into his skin, but he could not be made to care, so carried away was Sandor.

“Get the fuck away from that bloody door, holy man.” He began thrusting into Sansa hard and fast. She gasped each time he filled her, clenching her woman’s place tightly against him in response.

“We’ll be out in a minute.” Sansa called out, her voice quivering as she did so.

Beneath him, he felt her body began to shake and her womanhood tightening around his shaft, her peak upon her. Gasping, she dug her fingers into his buttocks, pulling him deeper still, her hips rocking violently against his thrusts.

“Very good, my lady.” Elder brother cleared his throat. Sandor could faintly hear the man’s footsteps retreating.

With a loud cry, he sat up and drew Sansa onto his lap, all the while heatedly carrying their rhythm himself, gripping her hips and thrusting into her as she cried out long and low, deeply arching her hips to match his movements.

“Gods, Sandor!” Sansa shouted out as every muscle in her body tensed. The waves of pleasure rolled through her carried through to him. Tightening his embrace, Sandor forcefully rocked forward, his ecstatic shout muffled against Sansa’s neck.

They collapsed, out of breath, and she laid her head on his chest, the young woman cradled in his arms. Sandor kissed her several times before stretching out, their legs tangling together as their breathing eventually slowed.

“I will watch you every day.” Sansa placed a hand on his chest. “Especially if this is what I have to look forward to later.”

Sandor barked out a abrasive laugh. “Aye, you should, for I will gladly perform this duty for you, my lady.” He sighed deeply and stroked her cheek. “Well, I guess it is time to go see what is in that scroll.”

It was Sansa’s turn to sigh then. “Yes, I suppose we should.”

After they dressed, Sansa and Sandor made their way to the solar, quietly walking arm in arm.

Arya darted out of the alcove with Gendry in hot pursuit, startling the couple.

“Arya, come here at once,” Sansa called to her. “A raven came. We needs see what it is about.”

Frowning, she abruptly stopped, as did Gendry. “A raven? From who?”

“ _Whom_ ,” Elder brother gently corrected as he appeared at the door, the man waving Arya and Gendry inside. “Come and sit, all of you.”

Sansa felt Sandor’s muscles in his forearm tighten. “What is this about, holy man?”

“Here,” the Elder Brother passed the scroll to Sansa. “It is from Stannis Baratheon, my lady.”

Pausing, Sansa began to open it, then stopped abruptly. “It is my lord husband’s place to open it.” She gave it to Sandor with a shaky hand. “Forgive me, Sandor. Would you be so kind as to read it for us?”

Raising his brow, Sandor unrolled the parchment carefully and then began reading aloud:

_Lord Clegane,_

_I am writing to inform you that Theon Greyjoy has taken Winterfell with the help of his sister Asha and her men. It is said they killed Brandon and Rickon Stark, though reports vary greatly as to whether the boys Theon Greyjoy killed are truly Lord Stark’s younger sons. A wilding woman escaped, one who Lord Eddard spared in the past, and it is believed she has the boys with her along with Howland Reed’s children._

_Lord Eddard, Robb and our combined forces will be making for Moat Cailin to block the Ironborn’s approach with the help of the Crannogmen. Our goal is to rally the north, stop the advancement of the Ironborn and take Winterfell by any means necessary._

_There has also been a great wilding uprising that also commands my attention at the wall. I cannot say when we will be able to reunite the Stark family but rest assured we will not send for your wife and goodsister until all is secured._

_Lady Catelyn will be staying with Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, should you need to contact them. I am entrusting you to relay this to Lady Sansa and Lady Arya. We will contact you with more information as it becomes available._

_There are rumors the Targaryen girl is moving toward Westeros with her young dragons. You must stay where you are, come what may, for if Lord Eddard and his sons fall, the girls are the heirs of Winterfell and the key to securing the support of the northern lords._

_As you are a man of battle, I know this might be difficult; however, as your lawful king, I trust you, Lord Clegane, to carry out my orders._

By the time Sandor finished reading, Sansa and Arya were crying and clinging to one another. Kneeling down, he took both women into his arms, one on each knee, and tightly embraced them.

“Better have your cry out,” he rasped quietly. “Get it out and be done with it, both of you.”

Gendry and Elder Brother shifted uncomfortably in their seats, waiting for the women to compose themselves. After some time had passed the Elder Brother made the sign of the seven pointed star over them and said a prayer.

“I just cannot believe it,” Sansa finally sobbed out. “Theon, how could he?”

“He’s not a natural born Stark, you know.” Sandor shrugged. “Raised as your brother but not of your blood. He’s Ironborn, a race of pirates and thieves.”

“But Father gave him a genteel upbringing-“

“His efforts were wasted, lass,” Sandor shook his head. “You can dress an ironman in furs and finery, teach him to read and write and give him books, instruct him in chivalry and courtesy and the mysteries of the old gods, but when you look into his eyes, the violence of the sea will still be there.”

Reaching up to touch Sandor’s face, Sansa’s face filled with recognition, and slowly she nodded understandingly. “Father kept Theon from returning to his family, just we were held by Cersei, Arya. We did not change for it-at least not for the good, and neither did Theon.”

“Your father treated him well, aye, but he was a captive, just the same.” Sandor took her hand in his. “He was biding his time, him and that bitch of a sister he has. If I ever see either of them, you best believe I’ll gut them both.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Arya cried out angrily. “He was like a brother to us! Father didn’t mistreat him like Cersei and Joff did us.”

Gendry gently said: “That isn’t what Lord Clegane means, and you know it. Think on it a minute.”

“But Father said he pledged himself to Robb when he was made king,” she tearfully sputtered out. “Theon just couldn’t have killed Bran and the baby!”

“I do know what I’m talking about, gods be damned!” Sandor slammed his fist on the table. “My own brother did this,” he pointed to his scarred face. “If my own flesh and blood could do this to me, why do you suppose the Greyjoy brat is capable of any different? Damned Ironborn bastard! He’ll bleed for his treachery.”

Nymeria began scratching and howling at the door. “The beast is responding to your suffering,” Elder Brother rose and opened the door. “She needs comfort too.”

The huge animal forced her way inside, nearly knocking over Elder Brother in the process. Arya ran to her and buried her face in the direwolf’s luxuriant fur, while Sansa sobbed into Sandor’s tunic.

Elder Brother mixed several tonics together in a glass beaker and then evenly distributed the concoction into two goblets of Arbor Gold.

“Here, my ladies, drink this.” He gave one to Sansa and one to Arya. “It will settle your nerves and help you rest.”

“Wait Little bird,” Sandor took the cup from Sansa and sniffed it suspiciously. “What is in it?”

“A little milk of the poppy and chamomile.”

Blankly Sansa stared at the goblet as though she didn’t know what to do with it.

“Go on, then,” he brought the cup to Sansa’s lips and gently gave her a drink. “You too, wolf girl. It’ll blunt the pain.”

“There is more news, I’m afraid,” Elder Brother placed another scroll in Sandor’s hand. “My lord, this demands your attention as well.”

Swearing under his breath, Sandor read through the message several times and then tossed in the maester’s fireplace.

“What is it?” Sansa worriedly watched his face.

“Littlefinger. Seems he’s looking for you two.” Sandor angrily glared into the fire. “He’s with your Aunt Lysa in the Eyrie, you know. They are married a moon hence. Claims he wants to help you because of some long held affection for your mother. Bloody lies, that. He wants you for his own.”

Sansa and Arya exchanged worried glances.

“He wants to fuck you, Sansa.”

“How do you know that?” Arya blurted out.

“The man wasn’t exactly subtle in the Red Keep.”

“Sandor, this is terrible,” Sansa wrung her hands. “First Cersei and now him.” She shivered involuntarily, the gesture at once infuriating the man.

“He does not know of this place, nor does he know where you are,” Sandor went on, staring into her eyes as he spoke. “But he has put a bounty on each of you in addition to what is already on our heads.”

“Howland Reed has put a glamour over the keep,” Elder Brother quietly added. “He did so from the moment he heard that Winterfell was taken.”

“How do you know that?” Sansa stared at the holy man.

“I saw it in a dream,” Elder Brother answered. “It is how we communicate.”

Arya’s mouth hung open.

“No one will find this place without his assistance. Just the same, you must all stay within the confines of the Wolf’s Den.” Elder Brother went on.

Sansa slowly rose and held out her hand to Arya. “Our younger brothers are presumed dead. Our elders are at war. Our home has been captured by a traitor. We are Starks, the blood of Winterfell. We cannot be bothered with Petyr Baelish just now.”

“He won’t be deterred easily lass, believe that.” Sandor searched her face, at once beautiful, determined and solemn and very much like her lord father. It alarmed him that Sansa was either blind or refusing to acknowledge the danger the mockingbird presented, but as distressed as she was, Sandor decided it best to let her be for a bit.

“Let him look.” Sansa sniffed. “He is nothing to us. I do not care what feelings he held for mother. I do not trust him.”

“Me neither.” Arya agreed. “Hound, you should kill him.”

Readily he assented.

“No, you must stay hidden here with us.” Pleadingly Sansa took his hand and held it to her cheek. "Promise me.”

“I promise, but he won’t give up the search, wife.” Sandor warned again, anger seeping into his tone.

“I do not care what he does! Let him search high and low for all I care!” Her eyes flashed angrily. “He will find nothing, just as the Lannisters have found nothing. If he comes here, he will die.”  Sansa looked at Sandor. “You have made this place secure. I trust you will handle him, should the time come.”

“I will do so gladly.” Sandor drew his sword and placed it in front of her.

Stunned, Sansa stared at him.

“Go on then,” he grinned. “You know you’ve always wanted to do it.”

Smiling, Sansa placed her hand on the pommel. “Sandor, this isn’t-“

“Yes, it is.” He stared at her intensely until she submitted. “I swear it on our marriage that I will keep you safe.” Sandor snarled low, kneeling in front of her in the same manner he affected with King Robert on the day of the Hand’s tourney. “No one will threaten you or your sister, no one, and live to see another day. I will keep your father’s commands. I will obey Stannis for you and your sister’s sake. And if anyone comes here without your consent, I’ll kill them.”

Primly Sansa smoothed her skirts and set her countenance to one of calm intention, though her eyes sparkled with tears. “You must never bow to me, husband.” She knelt in front of him and took his hands in her own. “I love you. I trust you. You will keep me and Arya safe, just as you always have.”

Arya nodded in agreement. “Me, too, Hound. Not the love part, but you know.”

His mouth twitched into a grin.

“Father had the foresight to make this place for us and we will stay inside safe and sound, just as he and Mother intended us to do.” Sansa turned toward her sister. “Won’t we?”

“We will stay inside just as Sissy said, I promise. I won’t run around or get into any trouble. We need to stay safe, just like Father wants us to.” Arya added. “Come, Sansa, I’m sleepy now.” She yawned, as did Nymeria. “Let us rest for a bit.”

Sandor stood as the women quietly exited the solar.

“Do whatever you have to do, holy man.” Sandor rasped low, his voice low and mean. “You petition your gods for their safety.”

“I always do, my lord.” Elder Brother bowed.

Curtly Sandor nodded. “So you holy men say. But I mean my words.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I thought you don’t believe in the gods.” Elder Brother calmly stated. “Have you changed, perhaps developed a faith of sorts?”

Sandor harshly laughed in his face. “I gave up on them the day the High Septon anointed my brother. I believe in my sword and my word. And I believe in my wife.”

Fury rolled through the man as he spoke. He had taken her from King’s Landing, risked everything to return her to her family, and now bloody Petyr Baelish wanted to steal her from him. Sandor would go to the Seven Hells before he would allow that to happen, and the gods would pay dearly for it, he would see to it with his last breath.

“If anything happens to either of the Stark women, I swear on every one of your fucking gods that I will burn every image of the Seven, every weirwood tree, every sept, and all of the temples of the Lord of Light. I will slaughter every septon and septa and servant of R’hllor from King’s Landing to the bloody Wall. I will lay waste to them all!”

“You would go so far as to kill even me?” Elder Brother asked him, the man staring him levelly in the face. “Even though I have tried to help you and have tended your family? Even though I have sworn my life to their safety?”

“If anything happens to Sansa or Arya, I’ll be _starting_ with you, holy man.” Sandor spat back, pointing into the man’s chest, “So you best say your prayers and hope that your gods listen this time.”

Elder Brother nervously shrunk away from his gaze, and satisfied, Sandor then stormed out of the room.

 


	19. Chapter 19

After the Valyrian lesson ended, Elder Brother requested that Sansa come into his solar. “My lady, may I have a moment? I'd like to have a word with you in private?”

She knew Sandor was outside waiting for her and briefly wondered why the holy man had not invited him in as well.

“Certainly, Elder Brother,” Sansa genially followed him inside. Glancing around her, she marveled at the large assortment of books that decorated his shelves.

After directing her to an overstuffed chair, Elder brother sat down and waited for her to settle in.

Smoothing her skirts, Sansa politely asked: “How can I be of service to you?”

“May I speak freely, my lady?”

“Of course,” Sansa knitted her brows. “Is something the matter?” 

“Frankly, yes.”

Arya had been especially rambunctious that day; even several stern warnings had not improved her behavior. 

“You must forgive Arya; she is just experiencing a bit of cabin fever after two weeks of unrelenting sleet,” Sansa smiled at him. “In truth, we all are. Perhaps I should arrange for more exercise for her. We were raised in the wide expanses of the North and unaccustomed to being inside most of the time…” Her words trailed off as she took in his concerned expression; clearly the Elder brother had more than Arya on his mind.

“Yes, that is an excellent idea, my lady,” he folded his hands. “But my concern lies with your lord husband.”

“What is it?" She anxiously leaned forward. "Has he hurt someone?”

“No, my lady,” Elder brother smiled. “Though I find it curious that is your first assumption."

"It is a fairly safe one, unfortunately." Sansa sadly looked away.

The holy man paused. "I am worried that his pent up anger is unhealthy and may drive him into unhealthy behavior.”

Sansa frowned. “What sort of unhealthy behavior?”

“Well, overindulgence, for one,” Elder brother began, “Perhaps fighting with others, both physically and verbally. Excessive exercise.”

Sandor had been spent far more time training than she had ever seen him and as a result, his body rivaled the Warrior himself. He was huge, hardened, and surprisingly agile.

“Well, Sandor has not drank spirits to the point of intoxication since we left King’s Landing," she answered carefully. "But I must agree with you on the fighting and exercise.”

“Does he provoke arguments with you, my lady?” Elder brother raised his brow.

“No,” Sansa shook her head. “He would never; he is very gentle with me at all times, even though his words are harsh," Sansa explained. "But he does provoke nearly everyone else.”

“I see,” Elder brother moved beside her and leaned against the weirwood desk. “I am relieved to know you are the exception. May I ask: is the source of his anger related to his experiences in King’s Landing or to another trauma?”

Biting her lip, Sansa stared at her lap and folded her hands. “It is both. I suggest you talk to him about it, however, for I would not want to betray his confidence.”

“Of course not,” Elder brother placed his hands on her shoulders. “But I fear he is not ready to speak to me. He distrusts religious people, I think.”

“Yes he does,” Sansa agreed. _And knights_ , she added silently, _and you are both_. “How can I help him?”

“Well, you can help him by encouraging him to share his feelings.” Elder brother crossed his arms. “Though a man not given to openness, I can tell that, if anyone will be able to help him in this area, it is you.”

“I’m not certain that he will, but I can try.” Sansa furrowed her brow. “He can be quite open, if approached at the right time.”

“I figured as much, for I was once a man very much like him,” Elder brother smiled at her surprise. “Also, with your permission, I would like to start training with him in the yard.”

“Certainly,” Sansa eagerly nodded, though inwardly she feared for the man. “That is a wonderful idea.”

As if reading her thoughts, Elder brother added: “I was once a knight, you recall, though my fighting skills could use sharpening.”

“Forgive me, I mean no disrespect by this question,” Sansa fidgeted in her seat, “but does that not go against your vows?”

“As long as I do not take a life, there is no conflict with the faith of the Seven.” Elder brother rose and guided her to the door. “I am a sworn Contemplative Brother, but The Warrior, you know, helps those in battle. Practicing my swordsmanship honors him.”

“I mean no disrespect to your skill, but please be aware that Sandor is quite ferocious,” Sansa confided. “Even the Kingsguard feared him and he is far bigger and more aggressive now; he is truly living up to the moniker _the Hound_. Please be careful, for I fear you will take a serious beating.”

“If training with Sandor will help gain his trust, my lady, it will be more than worth it.” He smiled serenely at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Sansa returned his smile, relieved and a bit confused. She decided it would be unspeakably rude to continue questioning him. “You are most generous.” Sansa touched his arm. “I will offer prayers to the Seven for you.”

“You are very kindhearted, my lady,” Elder brother bowed. “It is an honor to serve so noble, gentle and devoted a mistress as you.” He opened the door for her. “Well, I mustn’t keep you a moment longer. Your lord husband awaits.”

Standing against the far wall, Sandor perked up when he saw her, straightening his back and offering her his arm as he approached.

“Why were you late?” He asked calmly as he fingered the handle of his sword. “Did you have difficulty with your lesson?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“Well, I know Valyrian,” Sandor revealed as he took her textbook from her, his large hands dwarfing the tome she struggled to carry. “My father made sure our maester taught us, but only my sister and I picked it up. Came in handy when I served Cersei and Joffrey.”

“Really?” Sansa beamed proudly at him. “You are a man of many talents.”

“Aye,” he grinned lasciviously at her until she blushed. “Many people came to court speaking Valyrian and then had it interpreted to the king. I did not trust them. More often than not, what they were actually saying and what the interpreter said where two different things. I corrected that for Robert, earning his trust. Though I belonged to Cersei, I’m sure Robert convinced her to name me Joffrey’s shield.”

“That’s wonderful, Sandor. You are so very smart.”

Pleased by her genuine praise, Sandor offered: “We can work together if you need to practice.”

“I would like that very much,” she squeezed his massive bicep with both hands. “Why did you not suggest it before?”

He shrugged dismissively. “You didn’t need me.”

“I _always_ need you and don’t you ever doubt it.” Sansa stood on her toes and kissed him soundly. “But my trouble with learning the language is not why I stayed after to speak with Elder brother.”

“Oh aye?” Sandor eyed her warily.

“He wanted permission to train with you in the mornings.” Uneasily Sansa cast a sideways glance at him. “To sharpen his skill with the sword. With all the danger we are facing, we may need him if it comes to battle here, so I said yes.”

“As you wish, wife.” Snorting, Sandor shook his head. “A warrior priest, bloody hells. I expect you’ll tell me not to hurt him.”

“No, Sandor, you are much mistaken,” Sansa smiled and tweaked his arm. “Please, train with Elder brother using the same intensity as you always do; hold nothing back. The training yard is yours, my lord. I will not interfere.”

Grunting, he eyed her with reservation but said nothing.

* * *

As they entered their rooms, Sansa stared at the snow falling outside. It blanketed the upper elevations, while lower in the valleys, there was only a sprinkling of green visible on the slopes. Sandor’s firm grasp surrounded her waist, but he remained silent, allowing her to stay in her thoughts undisturbed.

“Winter is coming.” Sansa absently whispered with a shiver. Sandor’s grip tightened on her, drawing her firmly but gently against the hard musculature of his torso.

He was no true knight, but he saved her just the same, and now this beautiful keep, the Wolf’s Den was theirs. Quickly her mind wandered to another knight, perhaps the only one she had ever met who had a semblance of honor: Lady Brienne of Tarth.

During the fight with the Freys and Boltons, she fought alongside Sandor, Ned and Jaime as an equal. The men respected her. Her mother respected her. After seeing Brienne in action, Sansa understood the appeal she held for her younger sister, for she was most impressive, even graceful, in battle.

To Sansa’s surprise, she also had very good manners and was very kindhearted, something she had not expected to find in the woman. She was everything Sansa expected to find in the knights of King’s Landing; all were sorely lacking in comparison.

Sandor was no knight and never would be, but he held Brienne’s ideals as near as Sansa had ever seen in a man. One night at the dinner table, he had told them the story of how Brienne had defeated several suitors who challenged her, which of course instantly made her Arya’s hero.

Her sister’s sword fighting skills were improving every day. Though Sansa had yet to tell her, she was proud of her. Though they were as different as the sun and the moon, they needed each other, and Sansa was glad she was with them. 

The desire to learn to defend their family grew daily within Sansa. It sprung from the same well within the sisters, Sansa was very well aware. They were the blood of Winterfell, Starks born of a line that spanned eight thousand years. She felt it instinctively, the desire to defend the keep, just as she knew winter was coming. Though they had not discussed it openly, they did not need to, for Sansa was certain Arya felt the same.

It was more than the Stark instinct for survival, though, that fueled Arya. It was plain to see that the girl derived a certain satisfaction in her growing abilities, much in the same way Sansa had felt when Sandor taught her to use the knife. Sansa had spent her time learning Valyrian; but her sister had used the time sequestered in the Keep to learn to take her skillset to the next level, just as Brienne had undoubtedly done at the same age. Sansa grew to want that for herself but how would such be possible?

More of late, Sansa had been thinking that she, too would like to train alongside them, to learn to use a sword and shield. What good would learning to speak Valyrian be to her family should they come under attack? Winter was coming, as the heavy snows falling outside of her windows attested to well enough. _The winters are hard, but the Starks endure_ , her father’s words echoed in her ears, _we always have._

For Sansa, those words from her father meant Starks did whatever was necessary to do just that. Like her ancestors before her, Sansa was determined she would use the last glimmer of autumn to train, to learn to fight alongside her family, to defend the keep her father had risked so much to provide for her. Though she was raised in all the ways of being a fine lady by her Tully mother, Sansa also was first and foremost a Stark, wolf blooded; she would kill unhesitatingly to protect herself, her family, and her home to ensure their survival.

For many weeks Sansa had longed to ask Sandor to train her too, but the words died on her tongue each time she tried to approach him. He would be gentle enough, she knew, but Sandor would not like such a request. He might even take it to mean she did no longer trusted him to keep her safe.

Nothing could be further from the truth for Sansa; she had absolute faith in her husband’s fighting abilities, but at what cost? His focus would always be divided, and Sandor could be hurt, even killed, because of it. Her desire to protect him, to keep him safe fueled her decision to learn to use a sword and shield.

The time to defend their keep would come as surely as the winter, and Sansa wanted to be an asset, not a liability, for him and Arya, for Gendry and Elder brother; the time for being the lady who allowed men to die defending her was vanishing as quickly as the errant green grasses stubbornly clinging to the lower mountain slopes of the Vale.

She had no desire to become a fighter on the level of Brienne or Sandor, of course; but neither did she want to feel like a burden. Silently she prayed to the old gods and the new that they would help her get through to her stoic husband.

“I will accompany you tomorrow to the training yard, if it pleases you, my lord.”

“You want to make sure I don’t hurt the old man or your sister?” Sandor laughed, the sound snarling and cruel to anyone who did not know him; to Sansa, it was the sound of her favorite song.

“No,” Sansa kissed his hand. “You would never hurt anyone unless you meant it. I want to watch you.”

“Then you are welcome, my lady,” Sandor smirked at her before he raised her hand to his lips.

“I also want to train with you.” Her words came out quietly, almost as a whisper.

Disbelieving, Sandor stared hard at her, his eyes glimmering angrily as he did so. “What is this buggering nonsense? Train with a sword?”

“And a shield.” Sansa faced him. “I would learn to fight alongside you and Arya.”

“No, gods be damned!” Sandor turned away from her and ran his hands through his hair.

“Yes,” Sansa rested her hands on his shoulders, “and I want you to be the one who teaches me.”

“But why, lass?” His pained expression pierced Sansa’s tender heart but still she remained firm. "You care not for such things."

“Because I love you. This is our home, our keep, ours to defend and protect. When the time comes, and we know it will, I want to help you, not stand by and watch you defend me, my family and my home.” When Sandor tried to turn away, Sansa took his face in her hands. “I want to shield your back as you have mine. I cannot do that with embroidery or Valyrian. I need this. Can you understand that?”

“I don’t want anyone to say I couldn’t keep you safe, lass. I-I couldn’t live with that.” Sandor gritted his teeth angrily, though his eyes said he was more hurt than mad.

“No one here would say that. I will make it seem as though I just want to be with you; how would that be?”

“I hate liars.” He sniffed, though that was all he said.

“It is not a lie. I do want to be with you first and foremost. But I just won’t divulge my motives to anyone else.” Sansa tipped his face down to hers. “Most of the men will think you’re just a newly married man indulging his empty headed wife.”

“No one had better say that. I will have no one call you empty headed or say that I cannot take care of you and the wolf bitch. If they do, they will taste my blade lass, believe that.”

“As well they should, my lord.” She said so seriously that Sandor remained quiet. “And since when does Sandor Clegane give a-what is it you say- _a bloody fuck_ -what anyone thinks?” Sansa laughed softly in spite of herself at her husband’s shocked expression.

“I don’t like hearing my harsh words repeated back to me from your pretty rosebud mouth, lass.” Sandor reluctantly let a smile curl onto his mouth as he knelt to kiss her. “But I’ll give you that. You come with me now in the morning, wife. I’ll be proud to teach you. No tourney swords, now,” he warned her. “I’ll teach you with real steel, just like I do your sister.” 

“Thank you, husband,” Sansa leapt into his arms. “I’ll work hard and make you proud.”

“I am already prouder of you than any husband has a right to be, love,” he growled into her neck. “Now come join me in the steam baths.” His breath fell hot on her ear, causing her to shiver delightedly in response.

“Sandor it is almost time for dinner-“ Sansa wriggled impatiently against him, causing Sandor to hold on to her tighter still, the man chuckling at her obvious arousal.

“Bugger that,” he growled. Sandor then covered every available bit of skin with kisses until Sansa agreed, squealing excitedly as he carried her toward the baths.


	20. Chapter 20

Heavy snows descended on the Vale, keeping the occupants of the Wolf Keep cloistered indoors. _Winter is coming_ , Lord Eddard’s words returned to Sandor each morning. The weather had been steadily getting worse since they arrived at the keep.

Though he hated the title, being the lord of the Wolf's Den would keep Sansa safe and he bloody well meant to do his best. Elder brother walked him through the grounds each day, drawing his attention to the needs of the people and in turn, Sandor would train with him in private.

Sandor also had taken up some of Elder Brother’s books. In order to effectively run the keep, he needed to refresh the training his maester had given him so long ago.  As with physical training, Sandor applied himself, though the man knew that this aspect was really more within Sansa's skill set.

One night after they made love, Sansa asked to join his studies, and so together they reviewed the inner workings of lordship each night. As much as he loved sharing these things with her, it disturbed Sandor that Sansa felt she would be of more use to him by learning to use a sword when her greatest asset was her ability to persuade the most hardened of rulers.

Sansa did not seem to appreciate the value of her diplomatic gift, and she doubted her unique intelligence and effectiveness. Regrettably Sandor knew his earlier treatment of her made him at least partly culpable for her lack of self-confidence.

Though he desperately longed for her to continue her studies with Elder brother, Sandor was not the sort of man to bully his wife into doing his will, nor would he have married a woman who would allow him to order her around. Ever dutiful, Sansa still had a mind of her own, though undoubtedly she would obey him if he insisted.

Sandor was at a loss; he need to make her understand that one day, the bloody war would be over and when it was, she would need every advantage in dealing with whoever was left sitting on the Iron throne.

Indisputably the dragon bitch would prevail: according to Lord Eddard, she had unnerved everyone in the Seven kingdoms and rightly so. Reports from Yunki claimed her dragons were growing every day in physical size as well as ferocity. She had sacked several cities by commanding her largest to unleash dragonfire, but Sandor wasn't sure if he believed it. Wisely his goodfather had foreseen the day when his family would require protection and he had the keep fashioned for just such an occasion; for the Wolf Keep has been carved out of granite and obsidian and more than able to withstand an assault by the dragons.

Now it was up to Sandor to keep them safe. He trusted Stannis Baratheon no more than he did Daenerys Targaryen.  According to Elder Brother, Stannis and his red witch followed the buggering lord of light with frightening fanaticism; but they were no match for a Targaryen with three dragons, both he and the holy man agreed to that.

It darkly amused Sandor that Stannis would undoubtedly meet his end by the very force of nature that he worshipped. A death by fire was pure death, the red witch said. When Daenerys Targaryen showed up with her fire breathing beasts, she would not be forgiving to the Usurper’s family; then the two of them would undoubtedly experience such firsthand.

All of this weighed heavily on the man, but Sandor had no fucks to give about their safety; Sansa and her family was his only concern. He had been just a squire during Robert’s Rebellion and Sandor saw little of Rhaegar Targaryen and the Mad King, but he knew enough of them to know Targaryens don’t yield easily; when the time came for the Starks to go before her, Sansa would need every advantage to help her family. He meant to speak to her about it after practice.

In order to stay out of the weather, Sandor had the men at arms fashion the large glass covered atrium into an exercise arena. Sansa had remained determined to learn to use a sword, something that vexed Sandor greatly. Since she needed to work on her strength before taking up training, Sandor led Sansa through the prescribed exercises every morning, the man hoping she would change her mind.

But so far, his wife seemed to enjoy the exertions and grew more confident as she improved.

Arya wasn’t surprised.

“She loves to dance and we used to have epic snowball fights,” the little wolf shrugged. “She wasn’t all finery and fluff.”

“She doesn’t belong in the training yard.”

“True,” Arya allowed, “but Sandor, you must understand that for Sansa, it’s more than just exercise; it’s about duty with her. She is a Stark, after all. You gotta let her do this.”

He grudgingly admitted that much was true. After a moon’s turn of hard exercise, Sandor deemed Sansa ready for the training yard.

When she entered the atrium, the soldiers all became very self-conscious at the sight of their lady among them.

 _Buggering bastards, who could blame them?_ Sandor smirked to himself, for Sansa looked good enough to eat in the tunic and leather breeches she wore.  Fashioned after his own, Sandor could see Sansa had made her garments looser than he wore; yet with them adorning her lovely figure, the picture she made would enthrall any red blooded man.

“Do you like my outfit? I made it after your own. Does seem appropriate?” She shyly asked as he gaped at her, speechless. “I don’t want to dishonor you by appearing less than modest-“

Sandor barely heard her. He stared at her with all his might, his eyes taking in the way the material accentuated every movement of her beautiful breasts and the curve of her perfect hips and bottom. Her body on display excited him, sending a heated thrum of desire through Sandor so powerful that he felt weak in the knees at the sight of her.  Watching her shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other shook him out of his haze.

“You could drive any sane man to his knees, wife, even in a potato sack,” Sandor had replied huskily before hurriedly dragging her back to their rooms while she giggled. Once inside, he presented her with a new breastplate Gendry crafted for her.

“Oh, Sandor it is beautiful!” Sansa cooed while admiring the intricate wolf and bird detailing. Grunting, Sandor adjusted the straps until the metal plate set flat against her chest, the man more concerned with fit than finery.

“It is necessary, lass, even in the training yard.” Sandor then unsheathed a small short sword Gendry had fashioned for her.

“But you wouldn’t hurt me.” Sansa answered jovially.

Sandor grasped her arms. “No I wouldn’t. I can’t say the same for whatever opponent you will meet in real combat.” She turned serious at his words. “Here is your weapon.” It was a smaller, lighter version of his own longsword.

Sansa was thrilled by it. Reverently she held out the blade, weighing it in her hand. “Thank you husband. I did not expect you to go through this trouble for me.”

Shrugging, Sandor’s mouth twitched at her, the man well pleased by her response. “Use it wisely, wife.”

Almost tenderly, he strapped the sheath at her side and stepped back to look at her. “It fits perfectly. Gendry did a bloody good job, as good as any castle smith.”

Proudly Sansa smiled at him as she stared at her reflection. “I know you don’t like this idea, Sandor, but I am very grateful for all you have done.”

“I don’t like it for true,” Sandor drew in a deep breath, his mouthing drawing into a taut line. “But since you are determined, you might as well learn to use them right.”

“Is it really so disagreeable to you?” Turning to face him, Sansa’s hands went up to his shoulders, squeezing him lightly. The disappointment written on her face cut straight to his heart.

“Yes, lass,” Sandor admitted as he traced his finger over her cheek. “A knife is one matter, a sword another. Anyone who comes here will view you in a far different light now that you’re armed with steel.” Sandor patted the weapon at her hip. “You won’t be a frightened woman with a dainty jeweled blade. You’ll be a fair opponent, a true threat. They will fight to kill, not just subdue. Remember that.”

“You’re worried. I understand, truly I do. But you must believe, I only mean to use it to protect you and the rest of the family,” Sansa sadly cupped his cheek. “I do not wish to be a warrior like Arya or Lady Brienne.”

“And that troubles me more still,” Sandor gravely stared into her eyes. “For it tells me you’ll never be ready for the kind of men you’re like to meet in an attack.” He ran his hand through the length of his hair.

“So in the event we are attacked, what would you have me do, Sandor?” Sansa asked irritably, her face flushing pink. “Stay hidden and hope you’ll rescue me in time?”

“Sansa, don’t fucking fill my mouth with your words. I would have you train, if that is your desire. But for fuck’s sake, don’t challenge men in battle, do you hear me? Only use it as a last resort.” He pinched her chin, almost painfully. “Do you agree?”

Pursing her lips, Sansa nodded reluctantly. She opened her mouth and then closed it quickly.

“But?” Sandor barked, bring his face closer.

“But I want to be respected in the way I see the men respect Arya. The way Father and you and Jaime respect Lady Brienne.”

His anger abating, Sandor ground his teeth hard to keep from scoffing so she would continue. Gently she held his face, her expression earnest.

“I saw the fear in the Freys and Boltons. They recognized Brienne for the danger she is. I want others to see me as a true wolf.”

“And you think no one looks at you that way, do you?” Sandor rasped.

Sansa lowered her eyes. “No. Why would they? Arya’s the fighter. I’m just a lady.”

“Aye you’re a lady, just like that wolf of yours was. You are calm and collected but you are also capable of baring your teeth and ripping and man’s heart out if need be.” Sandor pulled her close. “You are respected by all, lass. Besides, you have skills a brute like me could never hope to possess.”

“For shame, Sandor,” she swatted him. “You are much smarter than I am.”

“No, I’m not, wife.” Ashamed, Sandor gazed into her eyes. “You only believe such because so many have told you otherwise.”

He grabbed her hand. “Come now, let’s practice.”

* * *

“Sis, you look so much better in breeches than your usual frippery,” Arya eyed her sister approvingly. "Good job."

"Agreed," Sandor grinned at her.

Sansa blushed deeply.

“Gendry’s armor and sword came out really good," Arya looked over her new things. "Now let’s see what my goodbrother’s been teaching you.”

Slowly Gendry approached. "How does it feel, milady?"

“Thank you so much, Gendry, it fits my hand like a glove and the workmanship is just beautiful,” Sansa took him by the hand. “I’m honored to wear it.”

Gendry blushed crimson and averted his eyes while the rest of the men either openly ogled her or tried to avoid her altogether.

 “Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea,” she began, anxiously glancing about her. “It seems I am out of place.“

The old fear returned to Sansa’s face and she shrunk before him, enraging Sandor.

“Bugger that, Little bird! This is _our_ keep. _Our_ atrium. If anyone disrespects you, they will taste my steel or find themselves thrown over the mountainside, one. Is that understood?” Sandor shouted and then stared down every man.

All remained silent.

“You will treat your lady with honor or I’ll cut you down. Any challengers best step forward now.”

The men fearfully kept their eyes averted.

“Come on, don't hesitate now. You gaped at her willingly enough. Who wants to die?” Sandor spat out, brandishing his short sword.

“That goes for me too,” Arya unsheathed Needle. “You say anything gross about my sister and I’ll kill you.”

Determinedly Gendry also unsheathed his own sword, the young man nervously looking around.

Elder brother cleared his throat. “My lord, shall we begin?”

“Aye.” Glowering, Sandor took Sansa by the hand and leading her to a secluded area.

“Come on now, Little bird, do like I showed you.”

Sansa carefully took her stance.

“Get him, Sansa!” Arya cheered and clapped her hands delightedly.

Circling one another, Sandor kept his eyes locked on his wife. Secretly he was proud of her, for though the Little bird would never be a fighter like her sister, she was well on her way to being able to use her weapons effectively.

Steel against steel, their swords clashed together, ringing against the steep granite walls of the atrium. Almost gently, Sandor pushed Sansa’s blade back with his own, challenging her.

Pivoting, Sansa’s cold blade met his with a sharp ring while Sandor easily spiraled back as gracefully as if he were dancing with her instead of engaging in swordplay.

“Good. Again.” Sandor grinned at her.

Staring intently at each other, the couple readied their stances once more. He nodded for her to advance and held his sword aloft.

Sansa met his blade easily enough but Sandor brought his short sword down in a hard arc as he whirled aside, knocking the sword from her hand. She stumbled toward Sandor, who twisted around and captured her by the waist. Sandor’s bare chest rose and fell and his arms pulled her flush against him as he brought the edge of his blade a safe distance from her neck. They held there, eye to eye, motionless. Slowly he lowered his weapon and tossed it aside.

"So, Little bird, tell me: how did I beat you?"

"I forgot my footing," Sansa huffed out, his wife clearly annoyed that he had disarmed her so easily.

"And what is the first lesson in sword play?” Sandor rasped low. His fingers ran slick over the light sheen of sweat on her neck until he felt her pulse fluttering under his touch.

"You're distracting me, Sandor,” Sansa finally whispered with a shiver. “That’s not fair.”

“Seven hells, get a room,” Arya rolled her eyes. “I’m here to train, not watch you two get all googly-eyed at each other.”

Ignoring Arya, Sandor breathed back against Sansa’s neck, gently nipping at her earlobe before pulling away.

"What did I teach you, Little bird?"

"Footing is crucial; always maintain it,” Sansa dutifully, albeit distractedly, replied. “The man who falls is the man who dies.”

“And?”

“Watch your opponent’s body, not their eyes." Sansa leaned into him. “The shoulders and feet cannot lie.”

Elder brother hurried over to them. “My lord, Jory Cassel, Jaime Lannister and Lady Brienne have found their way to the keep."

“Open the portcullis,” Sandor ordered. “Sansa, meet me in the main hall.”

* * *

“We could not risk sending a raven in this weather, my lord,” Jory shook the snow off his cloak. “Lord Eddard gave me this for you.” He placed the scroll in Sandor’s hands.

“Why is the kingslayer here?” Sandor barked out, fury flashing through him. “Is he your prisoner?”

“No, Lord Clegane.” Brienne shifted uncomfortably. “He was not well received in King’s Landing and requested to be returned to the Baratheon host.”

“You would serve Stannis and stand against your own…nephew?”

“It was your goodfather’s idea, Lord Clegane,” Jaime sneered. “The details are inside, I’m sure.” Hs green eyes glittered with amusement.

Sandor exchanged glances with his wife but the man chose to keep his thoughts to himself. He could see Sansa was impatient to read the contents but to her credit as the lady of the keep, she held herself in check in front of their guests.

Her eyes icily traveled over Jaime, who smiled at her in return. Tanned and muscular with short, sun bleached hair, the man looked far different than the last time they had seen him.

 “Ser Jaime, I am glad to see you looking so well. King’s Landing must agree with you.”

“Leaving King’s Landing agrees with me, my lady.”

Sansa curtseyed. “My husband will see to you.”

“Many thanks,” he bowed in return. Sandor didn’t care for the way the lion looked at his wife. Abruptly he moved between them.

“Sansa,” Sandor held up the scroll, “You and I will read this together in private after we see to our company.”

“Very good, husband,” she smiled broadly at him before turning toward Jory and Brienne. “Come, let us get you both to your rooms,” Sansa held her hands out to them. “You must be wet through after such a trip. We will have hot meals and warm spiced wine sent up to you at once.”  

“Lady Brienne, allow me to help you with your cloak.” Arya eagerly stepped forward, her eyes glowing at the female knight.

“Thank you my lady, but I can manage.” Brienne softly smiled when Arya began grappling with the heavy garment.

“My ladies, we are sent here by your lord father to do your bidding,” Jory bowed and then offered each arm to Sansa and Arya. "Allow me."

“You’re our friend,” Arya rolled her eyes. “Enough with that lady stuff.”

“Come now,” Jory needled her belly, “what would your father say?”

Laughing, the young women eagerly accepted his arms while Brienne followed after them.

Their arrival was surprisingly appreciated by Sandor, for while the men at arms were well trained, he discovered they were woefully inexperienced in battle.

Though she was welcoming and kind to their guests, Sansa, on the other hand, was not pleased. He would not keep them there if she was unhappy, but after some discussion, Sandor convinced her that the more experienced soldiers they had with them, the safer the keep would be.

“Once our guests have rested and refreshed themselves, I believe you should meet with them in private to see why they have come,” Sansa folded her hands. “Father would not have sent Jory and Brienne with Jaime if it wasn’t important.”

“Agreed,” Sandor pulled her close. “I want you there, wife.”

“You don’t, not truly-“ Flustered, she turned away.

Sandor took her by the hand. “I _do_ need you there. Sansa, you understand things in a way I cannot. You make those dry books come alive. Wife, I want you by my side.” He held onto her firmly.

“Well, I don’t know how much help I can be to you.“ Sansa tried to look away.

“More than you know.” Sandor held her face in his hands. “You don’t know how deeply I regret calling you stupid, lass. You are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. Forgive me.”

“I did, long ago.”

“Then join me, Sansa. I need your advice, wife; I need your insight, your instruction, your council. I'm a bloody soldier at heart; I cannot be a lord without you by my side at every turn. Bugger convention and all that nonsense. Say you will run this place with me as my equal.”

Sandor watched her swallow hard as she stared at him with eyes full of joy and disbelief. Solemnly she took his hands into her own. “Yes, Sandor, I will help you.”

“You’ll do _more_ than help.” Sandor insisted. “You will rule the Wolf Keep as my equal _and_ my lady.”

“Yes, Sandor, I would love to rule our home with you.” Uncertainly Sansa looked down at their entwined fingers. “But this arrangement breaks all conventions for certain.”

“Bugger that, I say,” Sandor pulled her into his arms. “You know I don’t give two fucks what anyone thinks. I only care about you, Sansa; only you.”

Beaming, Sansa buried her face into his neck and kissed him soundly. “I love you.”

“And I you. I need you to keep studying with me,” Sandor whispered into her hair. “I need you to keep up with Valyrian. Will you?”

“I will,” Sansa promised. “I will do all I can to help keep us safe and make this place a home.”

“That’s my girl,” Sandor nibbled on her neck. “Now let’s nap for a bit.”


	21. Chapter 21

After kissing him leisurely for a while, Sansa gently pulled away. Surprised, Sandor studied her closely.

“Can we not read the scroll first, my love?” Outwardly she appeared calm as she folded her hands in front of him, though her nerves betrayed her when she laced and unlaced her fingers fretfully. “I am most eager to see its contents.”

Her words faded away as he focused on the movement of her pretty red mouth. She had worked him into quite a lather, nibbling and sucking on his lips and neck, matching his own hunger eagerly at every turn; and he knew it would take some doing to calm his raging erection and focus on her words. Clearing his throat, Sandor struggled to still his hands, which were currently roaming her curves. 

Seeming to sense his mood, Sansa daintily rose and put on her robe. Sandor acutely felt the loss of her lush body pressed against him.

“Aye, we will. Come to me now,” he patted his thighs distractedly.

Eagerly she returned to him.

After settling her on his lap in front of the fire, Sandor unrolled the letter. The first detail that drew his eye was that the scroll was addressed only to him. A surge of equal parts fury and anxiety rushed through Sandor’s blood, and the man turned away so that he may read it in private first. 

Though Sandor’s abrupt actions undoubtedly made her more pensive, Sansa, ever the dutiful wife, silently took up her sewing in the window seat while awaiting his response. Glancing down at Lord Eddard’s sprawling script, he began to read the contents to himself. 

> _“Goodson,_
> 
> _Petyr Baelish has taken Lady Arryn to wife, and the Lannisters now control the Eyrie and the Vale. Word has reached us that a combined Lannister and Arryn army has been sent by Lady Arryn to search for Lady Sansa and Lady Arya. In a bid for Cersei’s favor, Baelish called for Gregor Clegane to lead the search throughout the Vale, and Lord Tywin assented. The hill and mountain clans have rebelled against the soldiers and are gathering together to make a stand against the Mountain and his men. The fighting is fierce, so it is vital that you stay within the safety of the keep._
> 
> _Your instinct as a man of war is to make a bid_ for escape. I understand that you also would wish to cause the death of your brother, goodson, but this is one time you must trust in the power of the old gods.”

Apprehension transformed into a black fury within Sandor. Cursing under his breath, he lept to his feet and paced the room before continuing.

Shrinking, Sansa laid down her needlework and wrung her hands as she watched him.

“Easy, wife, I’m alright.” He muttered before continuing his reading. 

> _“Lord Reed is keeping you safe by reinforcing the glamour over the keep. Bran and Jojen are watching over the goings on there through greensight and skin changing. Lord Stannis’ woman, Melisandre, a practicer of R’hllor, wants to help, she claims; however we Starks know no gods but the old gods of the forest and will not include hers in our matters.”_

“Bugger the Red priestess and her fire god.” Sandor cursed out loud before he went on. “Stannis is a damned fool for trusting her.”

“I cannot believe Father or Robb would be so easily swayed by her,” Sansa quietly remarked while staring curiously at the scroll in his hand. “Is it not so?”

“You speak truly. But your father's been known to make less than wise choices in the past.”  When Sansa frowned, he added: "Bringing you and the hellion to capitol, for one."

"Must you always bring that up?" Sansa's lowered lip quivered.

Sighing, Sandor grunted. "I will until the day your safe and not a buggering moment before."

Abashed, Sansa lowered her eyes.

>   _“I sent Jory Cassel and Lady Brienne to you, for I would trust no bird to carry such dark words to my own kin. Ser Jaime is to be used as a last resort; should Gregor Clegane prevail, the only hope of stopping him short of a blade through his neck is by the orders the captain of the Kingsguard, his liege lord’s firstborn son.”_

Sandor snorted at that, the derisive sound drawing Sansa’s attention to him once more.

> _“Sandor, I know well what your brother is capable of; understand me when I ask you, please, to do whatever you must to keep my daughters from suffering the same fate as Elia and her children.”_

A sharp shiver travelled through him then. Swallowing hard, he cast a short look at his lovely wife, the young woman trying so very hard to focus on her sewing and not on him.  
“I swear it, Lord Eddard. Your buggering gods better not fail her.” Sandor whispered beneath his breath.

>   _“King Stannis and I have gathered the northern lords to join with them as well as other, less conventional armies. I will provide details about it when we arrive._
> 
> _I fear Sansa and Arya will take this hard; so tell them carefully and for the love of the old gods, do not let them read the entirety of this letter. We need all the power of the Starks together at this time, and Jon Snow has joined us as well. We are a sennight’s ride behind my messengers._
> 
> _Reassure my daughters that Robb, Jon and I are coming for them and we are bringing all the might and power of the north with us._
> 
> _May the old gods and the new save us all._
> 
> _Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell_

Sandor felt his mouth curl into a wicked snarl as he contemplated the implications of Lord Eddard’s communication. _Gregor coming to me,_ he shook his head. _Well, then, let the bastard come. I’m ready for him._

The feel of Sansa’s soft hand on his arm stirred him from his thoughts.

“Tell me, Sandor, please: I can bear it.” Sansa appeared composed, though her hands trembled as she spoke.

“Your Aunt Lysa has gone and married Littlefucker.” Sandor took her hands in his own, smoothing his thumbs over her knuckles soothingly. “She’s sent soldiers to look for you and Arya.”

“I do not understand,” Sansa fretted in earnest, “Why would she seek us? She doesn’t even know us.”

“You never met her?” Sandor queried, the man mildly surprised. “I thought your family was closer than that.”

“No, we never met. Lord Jon travelled to us once when I was little, but she did not accompany him. Father was relieved.” Sansa shook her head, “She did something bad, that much I remember. Mother wouldn’t tell us the details but Father expressly ordered us to stay away from her, should she arrive one day. I do not think Mother ever told Robb or Jon what happened, not even when they reached manhood. I cannot imagine why she would instigate such a search.”

Frowning, Sandor outstretched his arms to his wife, and she readily entered his embrace. Gently he gripped Sansa tightly about the waist and drew her close to him.

“Little bird, I know of what your Father spoke. Your Aunt Lysa was unfaithful to your uncle. She loved the Master of Coin, and fucked Petyr Baelish whilst in the Red Keep. I can’t say that he returned the tender feelings she obviously held for the man but he used her just the same.”

“The Seven save me,” Sansa placed a hand on her stomach, “You’re certain of this?”

“Aye. Caught them in the act myself a few times.” Sandor nodded severely. “Old Robert thought it a great joke on his Hand. Selmy and I had our doubts as to the true identity of Robert Arryn’s sire, for the boy was so unlike Lord Jon in both temperament and looks.”

“How so?” Sansa searched his face.

“Lord Jon was robust, broad shouldered and brave as anything, with blue eyes, blonde hair and an aquiline nose. Lady Lysa favors you and your lady mother, just as your brothers do,” Sandor continued. “But Robert favors neither side.”

“Lady Arryn is touched, it is widely known.” Sansa quietly said, her eyes downcast. “Perhaps this is some wild random order of hers. Baelish is using her-”

“Never mind that now,” Sandor spat out, “He knows I am here, a traitor to the throne, and that I have the sisters of the King in the North with me. We have a bastard of Robert’s as well and that boy’s mere existence threatens their claim to the Iron Throne. The Lannisters will stop at nothing to get to us-Baelish marrying your aunt is just the tip of it all.”

Sinking into him, Sansa’s face paled, making her hair stand out brightly against her pale skin. Sandor held onto her tightly, the scarred warrior veritably encircling her in his protective embrace, willing her to feel his devotion to her safety.

“The Mother have mercy on us and the Warrior protect us.” She shuddered against him as she snuggled against his neck.

He sighed. “That worm Baelish used the affection your aunt holds for him to manipulate her into supporting the Baratheon claim to the Iron throne.”

When Sansa began trembling in earnest, Sandor poured a tankard of wine and urged her to drink. Obediently she swallowed the contents, coughing and sputtering as she did so. When the color returned to Sansa’s face once more, he went on speaking.

“As Lord Protector of the Vale, Baelish has convinced Lord Tywin to order Lannister soldiers to join the search for you.”

“Good gods above,” Sansa’s eyes widened. “Tywin’s men…you mean the Mountain, don’t you? That is why Ser Jaime has come-that is why you turned so fierce just now-”

Sandor could not bring himself to confirm her words but it was clear Sansa saw through him.

“Your brother is looking for us,” Sansa cried out. “You need not confirm it with words. I see it in your face.”

“They won’t hurt you or Arya, lass, I swear it on every one of your gods,” Sandor’s voice dropped menacingly, gripping her jaw tightly with one hand while he cupped the back of her head with the other. “Listen to me now: I swear to you that I will die before I let him hurt you or your sister, and I will go to the Seven hells and plunge my steel into the Stranger himself.” Panting, Sandor struggled to control himself.

“I trust you, Sandor,” Sansa answered quietly, resting her hands on his chest and rubbing them soothingly through the fine material of his tunic. “You will keep us safe.”

The trust shining in Sansa’s eyes cut straight to his heart. Clenching his fists, Sandor added: “We’re not alone in this. Your father and brothers have rallied the Northern lords to come to your aid. “

“Our aid,” Sansa gently corrected, burying her face in his neck once more and breathing him in. Feeling her warm breath on his skin sent another wave of protectiveness through him, and Sandor squeezed her close to his chest.

“We must hold them off. We must not allow any Lannister soldiers into our keep.”

“Don’t you fret, wife. Lord Reed, his son and your cripple brother are holding them off using some buggering magic.” Sandor grit his teeth so hard he tasted blood, for it galled him to depend upon some mystical force that he neither believed in nor understood. “The rest of your father and brother’s men will arrive shortly. Your menfolk are rallying an exclusive militia as well.”

“Is that so?” Comprehension flickered through Sansa’s bright eyes. Pursing her lips, she calmly stared into his confused gaze.

“You know what he speaks, don’t you?” Sandor studied her closely. “I’ve not heard of such. Is it some elite northern force your father trained without Robert’s knowledge?”

“Well, I am not certain how to explain it, but I think I understand him,” Sansa hedged. “Did you ever learn of the Kings of Winter from your maester?”

Puzzled, Sandor thought a moment. “Aye, come to think of it, he did. They fought the so-called Warg King, a monarch and a skinchanger in the North after the Long Night. He was allied with the children of the forest, but they were defeated by the Kings of Winter of House Stark.”

“Yes,” Sansa nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s right. The Starks killed his sons, beasts, and greenseers, but took his daughters as prizes. Because of this, Stark blood carries within it the ability to warg.”

“You mean, Starks can control animals through their minds?” Sandor wiped his face in disbelief. “The hells you say.”

“Yes, it is true. Bran has the gift, I saw it myself. Arya too. Please don’t get upset, my love.” She held onto him. “We…we all have the gift, to varying degrees.”

“What are you saying?” Sandor demanded, gripping her arms tightly. “You too have the gift?”

“I don’t know. I lost my wolf,” she replied sadly. “When she died, I felt it, that is all I can say.”

“What do you think your father is about, Sansa?” Sandor was growing more alarmed by the moment.

“I’m not entirely certain myself,” Sansa whispered as if to herself. “A long time ago, I remembered my father saying that when the cold wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

Sandor stared at her hard, but for the first time in memory, Sansa’s demeanor gave no clue as to her thoughts. In fact, she seemed further away from him than he had ever seen her.

“Sansa, for fuck’s sake, tell me-“

Distractedly Sansa drew in a deep breath and paced the room. “I must go pray, Sandor. It is the only thing I know to do-”

He could not mock her faith when she was so distressed. The man hurried next to her and wrapped his arms about her.

“No. Calm yourself. I cannot let you go in this state, lass,” Sandor whispered against her ear. "Your gods bloody don't need you to tell them the bad that's happening, believe that."

“But what of Arya?” Sansa blankly stared into his eyes. “We must tell her. And we must ready the keep-”

“We will, wife,” he led her to the bed, settling her back on the feather mattress and kneeling in front of her. “But for now, we rest. Let me hold you for a bit, lass; it will settle us both, and then I’ll take you to pray.”

Reluctantly, Sansa agreed. After they lay down, she immediately fell into a deep sleep, while rest eluded Sandor the rest of the afternoon.


	22. The Changling

A great chorus of wolves howled their refrain. There was something unnatural about the sound, and the ceaseless din grated on Sandor’s nerves as the night wore on. Something was not right, he could sense it; he felt as though someone was in the room with him, hiding in the shadows.

Silently he rolled out of bed and crouched on the floor, his fighting knife between his teeth.

“Come out, you son of a whore. Show yourself and I’ll give you a clean death.” Sandor snarled as he frantically searched their rooms. But he found no one in the room, and nothing disturbed.

Extraordinarily, the clamor began resonating in his ears like the clashing of symbols, and dispersed throughout his body. The sound awakened something primal within Sandor, both terrifying and yet somehow reassuring to the man.  Whatever the future held, he was damned sure he was ready.

 _What the fuck is going on?_ Sandor returned to the bed, rolling over onto his side and spooning Sansa against his chest. _It must be a dream._ _Too much of the sour tonight. In the morning this will all go away._

Before long the wolf bitch’s pet added her voice to the song whilst scratching the door, the animal’s behavior unsettling Sandor further still. Heat radiated through him as though emanating from within him, adding to his misery. Restless, he alternated between mopping his brow and tossing beneath Sansa, who strangely seemed undisturbed by his state. _This has to be a buggering dream_.

His ears pricked as Arya’s door clicked open. The great beast’s long claws scratched along the stone flooring in the hall, then paused outside. She was whining softly, snuffling under the door.  

 _Arya should have kept that damned direwolf inside_. Letting go of the breath he was holding, Sandor gazed down at Sansa, who continued to slumber peacefully in his arms. Carefully he pulled her on top of his chest; it made him feel better to have her body on his own, skin on skin, even though their combined heat made him hotter still. Moaning softly, Sansa snuggled down into him in response, her breathing slow and deep, each exhalation warming his skin and tickling the hair on his chest.

Never was she more beautiful than in sleep, and though many months had passed since their wedded day, Sandor still could not resist watching her, could not resist touching her and feeling her at every opportunity. Tenderly he stroked the length of her hair. _Does her wolf blood have something to do with this feeling of mine? Of the restlessness of the direwolf?_

The little bird looked so peaceful, that Sandor began to wonder if perhaps the wolf song was a good omen from the queer northern gods that the Starks worshipped.

Still, it was unusual for any forest sound to disturb him in this manner. He spent most of his youth camping in the woodlands with the Baratheon host. But dogs and wolves were scarce in those days and the large animals that remained stayed silent; and in his opinion, they showed greater intelligence for doing so than many of the human inhabitants of the land. And never before had their sounds echoed in his mind and body.

Sandor heard a large group of wolves raising their voice to the moon for the first time during the long Baratheon trek to the ancient seat of House Stark _._

The sound frightened the horses and knights alike.

But Robert had merely taken a long swallow of ale, tossed the empty horn onto his sleeping furs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and chuckled darkly, “What do any of you buggering cowards know of wolves?”

“I know for certain that wolves don’t howl in the daylight, my liege. This isn’t natural, and mayhap a portent from the old gods; we must be cautious,” Barristan Selmy gravely answered.

Robert merely dismissed him with a scalding glare and a wave of the hand, but Sandor knew the old knight was as smart as he was deadly, and his assessment gave him pause.

Sandor trusted the animal’s instincts, for dogs and wolves stayed true to their nature, unlike the treacherous highborns he served. Time had proven that the antiquated warrior indeed had the right of it, for even a nonbeliever like Clegane could not deny the primordial song from the northern wolves served as an uncanny warning to their human counterpart kin in Winterfell.

Regrettably for the little bird’s middle brother, the beast’s portentous howls went unheeded by Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Sandor could still hear the boy’s pet ominously calling to his young master after the accident; it likewise had set everyone’s teeth on edge.  

Sandor recognized this wolf song as the otherworldly forewarning that it was, and where the Starks had failed to act, Sandor resolved that _he_ would not. He had no buggering honor to burden him, no bloody titles to encumber him, no king breathing down his neck. They were in a fight for their lives and he was the vicious dog of his sigil; he would do whatever it took to keep his family safe. A deep sense of satisfaction flowed through him then, and eventually Sandor succumbed to sleep.

* * *

 

The hour of the wolf brought change in Sansa; she began writhing, crying out and murmuring, her exertions lively enough to awaken him. The sheets clung to her, soaked through with her sweat and yet her forehead felt cool to the touch.

Despite Sandor’s efforts, Sansa refused to awaken from her fitful slumber. Cold panic took hold of the man. After pulling a bed gown over her nude form, Sandor summoned the Elder brother and Arya. Gendry roused Jory, and they too joined them.

Keeping one eye on the holy man examining his young wife, Sandor paced the room like a caged animal, running his hand through his hair and cursing under his breath, his already limited patience long spent.

“What sort of sickness was this, holy man? Can you help her?”

Elder brother remained silent.

“Speak up! I’ve travelled to the Wall and back and I sure as fuck have never seen the like of it before.”

“Be silent. I need to measure her heartbeat.” The holy man pressed his index and middle fingers to the base of Sansa’s neck. Agitated, her eyes rolled back and forth beneath darkened lids.

“It is no illness, my lord, I assure you.” He said after a short pause. “Your lady appears to be held in a trance of some sort.”

Arya chewed her thumbnail and patted her foot. “Did you give her a draught?”

“Fuck off, wolf bitch!” Sandor snarled in her face. “This is not my fault!”

“I’m not saying it is. “ Arya wearily answered. “I just remember Maester Luwin saying that sometimes medicine has unexpected side effects.”

“And he was right, but this is not from a medicine.”

Sandor turned to Elder Brother. “Is this some Northern religious shite? Mayhap something to do with all those fucking wolves outside?”

“It’s possible but I cannot know for certain. I’m not familiar with the workings of the old gods, as you Northerners call them.” Turning to Arya, he asked: “Did your maester or your father ever mention such to you, my lady?”

“Well, they never called it a trance. But all Starks are wolf-blooded and we all have wolf dreams.”

“Even Jon?” Gendry uneasily probed.

“Of course! He’s my brother isn’t he?” Arya scowled at him. “And Ghost is with him.”

“So you have these…dreams, as well?” Sandor weakly questioned, for the very thought of his delicate wife enduring such a thing sickened him.

“Oh yes, I have wolf dreams.” Arya smiled thoughtfully. “In fact, I had a wolf dream last night, and she was with me.”

“Explain this wolf dream, as you call it.” Elder brother took out a scroll and quill and began writing.

“Well, it’s a really vivid kind of dream.” Arya fidgeted with the edge of her sleeping gown. “It feels like you are awake, and at first you think you are. In my dreams I run with my brothers, smell the dirt and leaves and hunt, too. And I can track the soldiers.” She inadvertently shivered. “I smelled the foxes and hunted prey alongside Nymeria.”

 “Her direwolf pet.” Sandor explained when Elder brother quirked his brow.

“You mean you experience everything that she does?”

“Oh yes,” Arya smiled dreamily as her gaze lifted toward the ceiling. “I roll in the dead leaves to scratch my back. I take long drinks from icy cold rivers.  I fight and play with my brothers there, too.”

“Wolves and dogs too; right pup?”

Arya nodded emphatically.

Sandor cleared his throat. “Her brothers and mine.”

“Father, Robb, Bran and Rickon are also similarly gifted, too,” the girl continued, “but I’m not sure about Sansa.”

Jory met Arya’s eyes and shook his head slowly.

Sandor watched the exchange with a sick sinking in the pit of his stomach, and he immediately knew then.

“She lost her wolf, Lady.” Jory reluctantly explained. “That Lannister bitch had her killed. But the queen did not keep her pelt. Your father wouldn’t allow it. At his command, I took her bones and pelt and hid them in my bags, to return them to your ancestral home.”

Arya gasped: “You mean, you have Lady with you?”

“Aye,” he nodded, “I am ordered to keep her with me until I can bury her in Winterfell in the lichyard.”

“No wonder Nymeria cried for you and Sansa! She smells her sister.” Tenderly she patted Sansa’s legs. “Mayhap Lady is speaking to Sansa even now. We mustn’t disturb them.” Arya commented dreamily.

Sandor stiffened to hear Jory’s exact words repeated to him in the voice of Sansa’s sister.

“I’ll bet Lady is with the Kings of Winter, laying at their feet and watching over Sansa.” Arya went on.

Elder brother gestured to Jory. “Have you ever experienced such a thing, my lord?”

Uneasily Jory glanced between Sandor and Arya. “In a manner of sorts, yes.”

“Why didn’t you protect me and Sansa in the South, then?” Arya asked sharply, her grey eyes fixed on him. “You could have helped our father. You could have saved him, or helped him save himself!”

“Your father and I tried very hard, but the magic of the old gods is weak in the south. Probably because there are few heart trees and fewer worshippers of the old gods. And that is also why your grandfather and uncle could not be saved from Aerys as well.”

Sandor knew the story well enough. The little bird’s Uncle Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.

“Bugger that. Sansa kept up her prayers. The gods ignored her. In fact, the little bird worshipped enough for ten northerners while she was in the Red Keep, more than anyone I ever saw. She was good and they left her to the lions.” Sandor snarled low.

“Clegane-“

Slowly Sandor inched toward Jory and the Elder brother. “Tell me: where were your bloody gods when Joffrey had her beaten? When she was attacked during the bread riots? Where were they all the nights I guarded her door and heard her sobbing herself to sleep? How could they remain deaf to her prayers?”

“I know you’re angry with them, Hound. Sometimes I am, too.” Arya slowly nodded and then turned to the elder man. “Last night, Sansa was with me in my dreams. She was a wolf, and had a beautiful red pelt and blue eyes, which is really rare. She was much bigger than Lady had ever been, but still small, too small really, to be-“

“A direwolf?” Sandor rolled his eyes. “What buggering difference does that make?”

“She looked – and smelled – like she was, well, part dog, part wolf.” Arya sniffed Sandor, and nodded to herself.

Jory raised his brows. “A wolf dog?”

“Yes,” she chose her words carefully, “and she smelled, well, like the Hound.”

“Wolves and dogs have mated before, it’s possible…” his words faded as he laid eyes on Sandor. “Is she-? “

Recognition hit both men at once _. House Clegane. Three dogs on a yellow field. Sansa…_

“I saw the bond between King Robb and his direwolf first hand.” Lady Brienne entered the room, interrupting them. “It’s definitely feasible that Lady Sansa and her direwolf are similarly joined. Clegane too might be involved.”

“I would hope so,” Jory glanced toward Sandor. “He is her husband, after all.”

With great difficulty, Sandor forced himself to remain calm. He could smell the fear and confusion in the lady knight, could hear her pulse racing in his ears.

“How is she?” Brienne smiled awkwardly as she studied the two men.

“Same.” Sandor spoke through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps the connection between Lady Sansa and her wolf transcends death. Mayhap it transcends species.” Brienne offered quietly. “We needs wait and see.”

“Anything is possible now. The return of the Targaryen dragons has changed the natural order of every living thing. The strength of the magic in the realm has reached an intensity the seven kingdoms has not experienced for three hundred years,” Elder brother sighed deeply, “but be that as it may, I am at as loss as to how to help Lady Sansa through this, and unwilling to wait for her to awaken and tell us.”

_Wolf and dog together. Wolf dog. Sansa smelled like a wolf dog, not a direwolf. Bugggering hells…_

The air suddenly escaped Sandor’s lungs. “To what extent will this strange connection continue to develop?” He eventually choked out with difficulty.

“We…we aren’t sure…”

Roughly Sandor gripped Jory’s placket. “Answer me true: what does all this mean for my Sansa? If you hold anything back, I’ll slit your throat and feed you to those damned wolves outside!”

“Clegane, you’re a Westerman. You cannot understand this, and besides we are sworn not to share this with anyone-“

Sandor wrapped his huge hands around Jory’s neck and began to squeeze. “Tell me you little shit or die, one.”

“Sandor is part of our pack now. He has a right to know, Jory. Gendry and Elder Brother and Lady Brienne are also part of our pack.” Arya insisted, pulling the men apart. “As your lady, I say it is necessary to speak of it this time, and I know Father would agree. Tell him everything, Jory. Leave nothing out.”


End file.
